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BY 


J.  T.  T  R  0  W  B  RIDGE. 


TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDER 


A  Description  of  the  Costume— (last  Of  the  Characters— Emrahees  and  Exits 
Relative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and 
the  whole  of  the  Stage  Business, 


AS  NOW  PERFORMED  AT  THE  PRINCIPAL  ENGLISH 
AND  AMERICAN  THEATRES. 


M.  J.  McGrath  &  Go’s  Western  Dramatic  Agency, 

Dealers  in  Dramatic  Works,  Wigs,  Beards,  Mustaches, 
Tableau  Lights,  Face  Paints,  Spangles,  Gold 
and  Silver  Braids,  and  General  Pur¬ 
chasing  Agents. 

153  SOUTH  DESFLAINES  ST,  CHICAGO. 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below.  A 
charge  is  made  on  all  overdue 
books. 

University  of  Illinois  Library 


m  10  !|50 

®  2  7  1953 


h  ! 


AUG  !  0  !35 
FLB  2U  1371 


•?  i 


§  f  P  2  8  W 

SEP  2  2  UAL 

I'oAtp'b 

FEB  G  1  1992 


M32 


PREFACE. 


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y? 


It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  drama  of  •  Neighbor  Jack- 
wood  ”  is  founded  upon  the  novel  of  the  same  name.  The  suc¬ 
cess  of  the  book  occasioned  a  demand  for  the  pl^y.  Having 
pad  no  thought  of  lending  my  own  hand  to  the  work  of  adapt¬ 
ation,  a  liberal  proposition  to  that  effect,  from  Mr.  Kimball, 
of  the  Boston  Museum,  took  me  by  surprise  ;  and  the  encourage¬ 
ment  thus'received,  together  with  the  confidence  his  well-known 
energy  and  sagacity  inspired,  must  therefore  be  my  apology  for 
assuming  the  pen  of  the  dramatist. 

Having  decided  upon  the  undertaking,  my  first  step  was  to 
consult  the  Museum’s  clear-headed  stage- manager,  Mr.  W.  H. 
Smith,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  invaluable  hints  with  regard 
to  stage  business  and  requirements.  I  then  proceeded  to  the  diffi¬ 
cult  work  of  dramatization.  A  volume  of  over  four  hundred 
pages  was  to  be  compressed  into  five  -acts.  I  found  myself 
obliged,  consequently,  to  discard  entirely  episodes  and  personages 
that  give  interest  and  variety  to  the  book,  and  confine  myself  *to 
such  as  could  be  most  effectively  put  upon  the  stage.  Thus  the 
scenes  in  Mobile  and  Montreal,  Hector’s  adventures,  the  early  his¬ 
tory  of  Camille,  Bridget,  Corny,  the  Dunbury  parents,  and  vari- 
jous  other  characters,  —  among  them  Edward,  one  of  the  most 
prominent  in  the  novel, —  I  was  forced  to  omit  altogether,  or 
dismiss  with  a  casual  mention. 

On  the  other  hand,  to  render  the  play  complete  as  such,  and 
not  a  mere  version  in  dialogue  of  the  book,  it  was  necessary  to 
change  or  enlarge  characters  retained,  according  to  the  abilities 
of  the  actors  —  to  expand  Crumlett  to  the  proportions  of  War¬ 
ren,  and  fit  the  paternal  head  to  Whitman’s  able  shoulders.  And 
here  I  must  express  my  gratification  at  the  conscientious  care  and 
fidelity  with  which  the  piece  has  been  produced  upon  the  Museum 
l  boards.  Few  are  aware  how  much  a  dramatic  author  owes  to  the 
cooperation  of  a  skilful  and  judicious  manager.  The  various 
parts  of  the  play  could  not  have  been  better  cast  in  any  theatri- 
jcal  company.  From  Mrs.  Thompson’s  “  Grandmother  Rigglesty,” 
to  Miss  Rose  Skerrett’s  inimitable  “  Bim,”  the  representation  of 
each  character  has  seemed  as  nearly  perfect  as  possible.  To 
touch  upon  the  merits  of  the  intermediate  members  of  the  com¬ 
pany  would  swell  into  an  article  what  was  intended  merely  as 
a  prefatory  note.  J.  T.  T. 

Boston,  April,  1857. 


ORIGINAL  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS, 


AT 


THE  BOSTON  MUSEUM. 


Hector  Dunbury, . . . .  Mr.  E.  F.  Reach. 

’Squire  Greenwich, . . . F.  Whitman. 

Robert  Greenwich, . J.  Davies. 

Neighbor  Jackwood, . W.  H.  Smith 

Abimelech, . Miss  Rose  Skerrett. 

Enos  Crumlett, . .  Mr.  W.  Warren. 

Mr.  Rckely, . J.  Wilson. 

Dickson,  .  . . E.  Thompson. 

Oliver  Dole, . Wheelock. 

Landlord, . Delano. 

Sheriff, . Willis. 

Lawyer, . . . .  . . W.  Finn. 

Wilton, . Lake. 

First  Lounger, . Boynton. 

Second  “  G.  W.  Delano. 

Farmers,  Sheriff's  Officers,  Ac.,  by  auxiliaries. 

Camille  (Charlotte), . Mrs.  Skerrett 

Mrs.  Jackwood, . Mrs.  Preston 

Grandmother  Rigglesty, . Mrs.  Thompson. 

Matilda  Fosdick, . Mrs.  J.  R.  Vincent. 

Phoebe  Jackwood, . Miss  Ellen  Wright. 

Bertha  Rckely, . .  .  Mrs.  H.  Eckhardt. 

Mrs.  Greenwich, . Miss  Raymond. 

Etty  Greenwich,  . . Miss  M.  Thompson. 

Mrs.  Sperkley, . Miss  Mason 

Farmers’  Wives  and  Yankee  Girls,  ....  Misses  Fredericks,  Marjr  Wright,  Turner, 
Evans,  Mrs.  Wright,  Miss  E.  Jones,  &c.  &c.  &c. 


*rHE  SCENE  IS  LAID  IN  VERMONT. 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.  —  Kitchen  in  the  Farm-house .  Window ,  r.  c.,  and  door, 

l.  c.,  in  flat,  practical.  Mrs.  Jackwood  setting  the  dinner -table, 

r.  c.  Phoebe,  r.,  toasting  bread.  A  storm. 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  Dear  me,  what  a  squall !  How  dark  it  grows ! 
They  ’ll  git  wet,  sartin  as  the  world  !  ( Goes  to  the  window.  Sharp 

flash  of  lightning.  Starts  back.)  I  never  !  That  must  have  struck 
somewheres  !  ’Tend  to  that  bread,  Phoebe. 

Phoebe.  I  do  ;  but  I ’m  half  scared  to  death.  I ’m  always  afraid  of 
thunder.  0  !  ( Flirts  her  hand.) 

Mrs.  J.  That  bread  is  burning  —  I  smell  it. 

Ph.  ’T  an’t  the  bread,  it ’s  my  finger.  ( Sucks  the  burn.) 

Mrs.  J.  I  declare,  if  you  an’t  letting  that  toast  all  burn  to  a  cin¬ 
der  !  How  can  anybody  be  so  careless?  ( Drops  a  plate.) 

Ph.  So  I  say,  how  can  they  ?  I  did  n’t  break  that  ! 

Mrs.  J.  ( Picks  up  pieces  carefully.)  .  ’Tend  to  your  work  !  It ’s 
always  the  way,  when  your  father  and  Bim’lech  go  a-fishin’,  they 
never  know  when  to  come  home.  They  might  see ’t  was  goin’  to  rain. 
(Door  flies  open,  f.,  and  Abimelech  stumbles  in  headlong.)  Why, 
Birn’lech  !  Hurt  ye?  Do  shet  the  door  quick,  Phoebe  ! 

Ph.  I  should  think  the  Old  Scratch  was  after  him  ! 

Abimelech.  (l.,  getting  up.)  Wal  !  I  guess  you’d —  That  darned 
old  doorstep  ! 

Mrs.  J.  (c.)  Why,  what  now,  my  son  ?  Don’t  speak  so  ! 

Abim.  Don’t  care  !  ’Mos’  broke  my  shin.  I  was  runnin’  on 
ahead  —  - 

Ph.  I  should  say  you  was  running  on  your  head  ! 

Abim.  Ma,  make  her  stop  !  ( Flings  his  cap  at  her.) 

Ph.  Ugh  !  your  nasty  wet  cap  !  (  Takes  it  up  with  the  tongs.) 

Mrs.  J.  There,  there,  childern  !  Take  off  your  coat,  the  first  thing, 
Bim’lech.  Soppin’  wet,  an’t  ye  ?  Where ’s  yer  father  ? 

Ph.  He ’s  bringing  home  the  fish,  I  suppose  ;  they  always  ketch 
euch  lots  ! 

Abim.  Wal,  I  did  !  I  ketched  two  trout,  real  nice  ones,  and  lost 
em. 

Ph.  What  a  smart  boy  you  be  ! 

Abim.  Father ’s  got  suthin’  ’sides  fisb  1 

Th.  I  know  what  ! 

vt 


6 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[ACT  1 


Abim.  A  good  deal  you  know  !  Come,  what  ? 

Ph.  It ’s  what  you  got —  a  ducking.  You  never  get  anything  else, 
when  you  go  a-fishing. 

Abim.  Wal,  we  did  this  time,  any  way.  Can’t  neither  of  ye  guess  ! 

.Mrs.  J.  What  is  it,  my  son? 

Ph.  Tell  me,  Bim’,  and  I  ’ll  give  ye  an  onion  to  wipe  yer  eyes  with 

Abim.  It  *s  suthin’  real  nice  !  It ’s  a  —  beggar-woman  ! 

Mrs  J  A  beggar-woman  !  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Abim.  You  ’ll  see.  They  ’re  cornin’.  We  found  her  all  tuckered 
out,  crossin’  the  interval.  I  d’n  know  what  she ’d  done,  if  ’t 
hadn’t  been  for  me  an’  father.  0,  she’s  the  darnedest-lookin’  ol’ 
thing  ! 

Mrs.  J.  That ’s  jest  like  your  father,  for  all  the  world,  to  bring 
hum  a  stragglin’  old  woman  !  What  ’ll  we  do  with  her,  J  wonder  ! 

Ph.  Let  her  sleep  with  Bim  ! 

Abim.  I  guess  so  !  There  they  come  ! 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood,  d.  f.,  supporting  Camille  disguised. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  It ’s  all  right  now  !  Bless  your  heart,  my  poor 
woman,  don’t  tremble  so  !  Set  the  big  chair,  mother.  I  told  ye  we ’d 
find  a  warm  kitchen  somewheres.  This  is  better  ’n  out  doors  in  the 
rain,  now,  an’t  it  ? 

Mrs.  J.  WThy  !  who  is  she? 

Mr.  J.  Don’t  stop  tor  that  ;  get  a  glass  of  that  ’ere  currant  wine  ; 
she ’s  dre’ful  faint.  Cheer  up,  poor  woman,  you  ’re  among  friends 
now.  Here  comes  mother,  with  suthin’  that  ’ll  put  life  into  ye.  Take 
her  wet  bunnit.  Here,  poor  woman,  drink  this  —  ’t  an’t  none  o’  yer 
pison  stuff ;  it  ’ll  do  ye  good. 

Ph.  Don’t  stand  staring  at  her,  Bim  ! 

Abim.  You  don’t  stare,  nor  nothin’  ! 

(Mr.  Jackwood  holds  the  glass,  while  Mrs.  Jackwood  removes 
Camille’s  bonnet.  A  gray  wig  comes  off  with  it ;  at  the  same 
time  the  spectacles  fall  from  her  eyes ,  and  her  hair  falls  in  curls 
down  her  neck.) 

Mrs.  J.  (r.  of  chair.)  Sakes  alive  ! 

Mr.  J.  (l.  of  chair.)  That  beats  the  Dutch  ! 

Ph.  (r. )  Why,  she  an’t  an  old  ivoman,  after  all  ! 

Abim.  (l.  )  I  swanny,  I  thought  ’t  was  an  ol’  beggar-woman  ! 

Camille.  0,  you  will  not' —  Something  tells  me  you  will  be  my 
friend  !  ( Pleadingly ,  to  Mr.  Jackwood.) 

Mr.  J.  I ’d  be  yer  friend,  now  I  see  yer  face,  if  I  would  n’t 
afore.  No  unfortinit  critter  ever  come  to  Bim’lech  Jackwood’s  house, 
that  did  n’t  find  a  fire  to  warm  ’em,  a  good  dinner,  and,  more  ’n  all 
that,  a  hearty  welcome.  • 

Cam.  0,  thank  you  !  thank  you  ! 

Mr  o  No  thanks  ;  but  drink  this  ’ere.  Then  you  ’ll  be  better  . 

Mrs.  J  (r.  c.)  Dear  me  !  she  don’t  look  a  bit  stubbed  !  —  How' 
happens  it  you  ’re  travellin’  in  this  way? 

Mr.  J.  Don’t  ax  her  no  questions  ;  she ’s  kind  o’  turned  round, 
-  Do  ye  live  hereabouts  ? 

Mrs.  J.  Han’t  ye  got  no  home  ? 

Mr.  J.  There,  I  would  n’t  question  her,  mother  !  —  What  name 
shall  we  call  ye  by  ? 


/ 

I . 


SCENE  I.J 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


T 

Mrs.  J.  Hang  this  on  the  peg,  Phoebe.  —  Be  your  parents  livin'  ? 

Mr.  J.  Don’t  be  pryin’  into  her  affairs.  Can’t  ye  give  her  a  dry 
gown  to  put  on  ?  —  You  come  from  over  the  mountain,  did  n’t  ye? 

Mrs.  J.  What  was  yer  object,  in  dressing  like  an  old  woman  ? 

Mr.  J.  There,  there,  mother,  you  only  make  her  feel  bad  !  You  ’re 
always  so  inquisitive  !  —  What  did  you  say  your  name  was  ? 

Cam.  I  shall  be  better  soon  ;  let  me  be  quiet  a  little  while  —  my 
brain  is  confused. 

Mr.  J.  No  wonder,  you  ax  her  so  many  questions,  mother  . —  I 
forgit  what  name  • — 

Cam.  You  can  call  me  Charlotte  —  Charlotte  Woods. 

Mr.  J.  Cha’lotte  —  Cha’lotte  Woods  ;  that ’s  a  good,  honest, 
respectable  name.  Do  your  foiks  live  about  here  ? 

Mrs.  J.  Any  relation  to  the  Woods  living  under  the  mountain? 

Mr.  J.  Come,  don’t  pester  her  with  questions  any  more,  mother  !  I 
tell  ye,  it  hurts  her  feelin’s.  Make  her  comf’table  —  that ’s  all  we  ’ve 
to  think  of  now.  —  Feel  as  though  you  could  eat  a  little  dinner?  Do, 
don’t  ye?  That ’s  right.  Set  the  chairs  to  the  table,  Phoebe.  We  ’ll 
turn  her  right  around,  mother.  Poor  gal  !  poor  gal  ! 

Ph.  ( Setting  the  j chairs.)  Come,  Bim,  you  can  help. 

Abim.  I  an’t  a  gal.  I  wan’t  born  to  do  housework.' 

Mr.  J.  None  o’  your  nonsense,  boy  !  Take  holt  and  help. 

Abim.  I ’m  tired  to  death  —  perty  nigh  ! 

Ph.  I  should  think  you  would  be,  bringing  home  so  many  fish  ! 

Abim.  I  don’t  cai*e  ;  they  ’re  the  meanest  fish  down  there  to  Wild 
river  !  I  put  my  hook  right  up  to  their  mouths,  and  the  great  fools 
would  n’t  swaller  it  ! 

Mr.  J.  Not  so  big  fools,  arter  all,  my  son.  — Here  ye  be,  my  poor 
*  gal  !  You  must  eat  suthin’,  ye  know.  We  life  by  eatin’  here  in  this 
house. 

Abim.  My  first  two  nibbles  was  bites,  then  all  my  other  bites  was 
nibbles.  ( Places  a  chair  at  the  table ,  and  sits  down.) 

Ph.  Here!  that ’s  my  place.  {The  children  quarrel.) 

Mr.  J.  (l  .of  table,  seated.)  Give  Phoebe  her  place,  my  son.— 
Here ’s  good  home-made  bread  and  fresh  milk  ;  the  children  like  brend 
and  milk  ;  but  perhaps  you’d  ruther  have  some  buttered  toast  ;  that ’s 
as  sweet  butter  as  you  ’ll  find  anywheres.  Then  mother  ’ll  give  you 
a  good  stiff  cup  of  tea,  to  raise  your  sperits. 

Ph.  (r.  )  Bim  won’t  git  up  !  He  made  faces  at  you. 

Mr.  J.  Bim  Tech  !  did  you  do  that  ’ere? 

Abim.  (r.)  0,  I  didn’t !  There  was  a  ’skeeter  buzzin’  round  my 
nose,  and  I  squinted  to  scare  him  away. 

Ph.  What  a  story  !  There  an’t  a  mosquito  in  the  house.  Come, 
or  1  ’ll  help  you.  ( Pulls  the  chair  from  under  him.) 

Abim.  0  !  you  old  — 

Mr.  J.  There,  there,  there,  children  !  don’t  quarrel.  What  makes 
ye  want  to  pester  him  so,  Phoebe?  You  shouldn’t  mind  it,  my  son  ; 
you  should  be  abovfe  sich  things. 

Mrs.  J.  (c.,  pouring  the  tea.)  Do  you  take  milk  and  sugar0  v  To 
Cajiille.)  Why,  do  look  at  her,  father  !  I  declare,  she ’s  fainted  ' 

Mr.  J  Marcy  on  us  !  Bring  the  camphh'e,  mother  ’  {Supp&~*+ 

1  imille  Mrs.  J.  runs  to  an l fro.  Confusion.) 

Ph.  0  dear  !  0  dear  ’ 


I 


S  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD.  I  ACT  I. 

Mrs.  J.  I  never  .  this  an’t  the  camphire  !  What  am  I  about?- 

Mr.  J.  Don’t  be  seart  !  Some  water,  Bim’lech  !  She  ’ll  come  to 
arter  a  little  sprinklin’. 

Ph.  Water  !  water  !  ( Runs  to  the  tea-kettle,  and  pours  hot  water 

upon  her  foot.) 

Abim.  Here,  I’ll  sprinkle  her!  ( Seizes  the  milk-pitcher ,  and 

dashes  its  contents  on  Camille  and  Mr.  Jackwood.) 

Mr.  J.  Not  milk,  you  blunderhead  !  Water  !  Be  quick  ! 

( Exit  Abimelech,  d.  f.) 

Ph.  ( Pulling  off  her  shoe.)  I ’ve  most  burnt  me  to  death  !  0 

dear  !  Why,  no,  I  han’t,  neither  ! 

Abim.  ( Reenters ,  d.,  with  a  large  pailful  of  water.)  Here ’s  yer 
water  !  (Mrs.  Jackwood  brings  the  camphor  from  r.  2  e.) 

Mr.  J.  There,  there  !  you  ’ll  strangle  her  to  death,  mother  ! 

Mrs.  J.  ’T  won’t  do  no  harm.  Camphire  is  good  for  faintin’ 
spells, 

Mr.  J.  How  do  you  feel  now,  poor  gal  ? 

Cam.  ( Languidly .)  Better  —  quite  well. 

Mr.  J.  Better  ;  the  poor  creatur’  !  0,  do  look  at  that  hurt  on  hor 

breast  ! 

Mrs.  J.  Marcy  sakes  !  it ’s  a  stab. 

Cam.  It’s  nothing,  only  a  little  hurt. 

Mr.  J.  She ’s  been  stabbed  there,  sartin  as  the  world  ! 

Ph.  (r.,  with  her  shoe  in  her  hand.)  What  is  it? 

Mr.  J.  Open  yer  eyes,  can’t  ye  ?  I  want  to  see  how  ye  look. 

Cam.  My  eyelids  are  stiff. 

Abim.  (l. )  Put  some  butter  on  ’em  !  Say  !  shall  I? 

Mr.  J \  Git  away  with  your  nonsense  ! 

(Abimelech  recoils ,  and  falls  into  the  pail.) 

Ph.  ( Going  to  Abimelech,  behind  l.)  Good  enough  for  ye  !  What 
did  you  set  it  right  there  in  the  way  for  ?  Now  bellow,  great  baby  ! 

Abim.  Darn  you!  ( Spatters  her  ;  she  beats  him  with  her  shoe.) 

Mr.  J.  What ’s  all  this  noise?  Childern  !  can’t  ye  behave  your 
selves?  ( Exit  Abimelech,  chasing  Phcebe,  d.  f.) 

Mrs.  J.  Take  her  right  into  our  room  ! 

Mr.  J.  ( Lifts  Camille.)  Can  ye  walk  a  little?  That’s  right! 
You  ’ll  be  better  soon,  take  my  word  for  ’t.  Poor  gal  !  You ’ve  been 
havin’  a  hard  time  on ’t.  But  you  ’re  among  friends  ;  you  ’ll  find 
good,  safe,  comfortable  quarters  in  Bim’lech  Jackwood’s  house,  I  can 
promise  ye  that  !  There,  there,  cheer  up  !  Poor  gal  !  ( Exeunt ,  l. 

2  E.) 


SCENE  II.  —  Exterior  of  Village  Tavern.  Door  in  flat,  practt - 

cal. 

Enter  Loungers,  laughing,  r. 

First  Lounger.  Ha  !  ha  !  she ’s  a  stageful,  by  herself!  Who  in 
time  is  she  ? 

Seco7id  Lounger.  She  looks  like  Noah’s  wife,  getting  out  of  th# 
ark ! 

j 

-  ' i 


•CENE  II.]  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 

Enter  Stage-driver,  r.,  roughly  dragging  an  odd-ltokim ;  old-fash 
ioned  chesty  and  carrying  a  smashed-up  bandbox 

Third  Lounger.  Hello,  driver  !  they  say  you  stopped  in  the  rain  to 
make  love  to  the  owner  of  that  baggage.  That ’s  what  makes  the 
stage  so  late  to-day.  -  v  / 

First  and  Second  Loun.  That  ’s  so. 

Stage-driver,  (c.)  Blast  the  baggage  !  ( Kicks  the  chest,  and  slaps 
ihe  bandbox  upon  it.) 

Grandmother  Rigglesty.  { Outside ,  R.)  Here,  mister  !  You 
driver  !  don’t  knock  that  chist  all  to  pieces.  I  knowed  that  ban’box 
would  git  jammed.  ( Enters ,  with  bag,  umbrella ,  and  arms  fell  of 
bundles,  preceded  by  Landlord.) 

Landlord.  This  way,  ma’am. 

G.  R.  Strange,  folks  can’t  be  a  little  mite  careful !  Jest  look  a’  that 
ban’box  !  ( Drops  a  bundle.  Stooping  to  take  it  up,  drops  another.) 

0,  my  back  !  Do  pick  up  that  pa’cel,  can’t  ye,  driver?  (Driver 
takes  up  the  bundle,  and  flings  it  at  the  chest.)  I  vum  !  ( Exit  Driver, 
r.)  I  could  pull  that  fellow’s  ears!  He’s  the  hatefules,  driver' 
(-D  rops  more  bundles.) 

Land.  Walk  in,  ma’am. 

G.  R.  ( Drops  umbrella.)  That  ’s  the  wust  stage  to  r’.de  in  !  I 
shan’t  get  over  it  in  my  j’ints,  I  do’no  when  !  0  deal  .  ( stooping ) 

sich  a  dre’ful  rheumatiz  !  ( Drops  her  bag.)  J)o  jest  lay  them  things 

on  my  chist,  can’t  ye?  It  kills  me  to  git  down  bo. 

Land.  Walk  right  into  the  sitting-room,  ma’am. 

G.  R.  Does  anybody  here  know  Bim’iech  Jackwood? 

Land.  Neighbor  Jackwood  ?  Everybody  knows  Neighbor  Jack- 
wood. 

G.  R.  Han’t  nobody  seen  him  this  arternoon? 

Second  Loun.  I  saw  him  going  down  the  river,  a-fishin’,  this  morn- 
in’,  ’long  with  Bim. 

G.  R.  It ’s  the  strangest  thing  !  Here  I  wrote  to  Bim’lech’s  folks, 
more  ’n  a  week  ago,  to  let  ’em  know  I  was  cornin’.  I  wonder  if  that 
letter  has  ever  got  to  ’em  ? 

Second  Loun.  { Crosses  r.)  There’s  Enos  Crumlett  over  there. 
He ’s  been  waiting  ’round  all  day  to  make  a  trade  with  somebody.  I  ’ll 
Bend  him  over  to  the  old  woman.  {Exit,  r.) 

G.  R.  What  ye  laffin’  at?  {To  First  and  Third  Loungers.)  Don’t 
ye  know  manners  ? 

First  Loun.  Manners  ?  There ’s  no  such  fellow  in  town. 

G  R.  Laf,  then  !  Some  folks  don’t  know  no  better  !  Anything 
but  a  sassy,  grin n in’  — 

Fi~ss-  Loun.  Come,  Tom,  I  shall  split  if  I  stay  any  longer. 

Crosses,  r.) 

Third  Loun  Crack ey  !  what  a  scowl  !  {Exeunt  First  and  Third 
Loungers,  u  ) 

G  R.  Heugli  i 

Land.  Supper,  ma’am  ? 

G.  R.  No,  I  guess  not.  I  got  some  lunch  in  my  bag.  I  s’pose,  it’ 
Bim’lech’s  folks  don’t  come  for  me  perty  soon,  you  can  jest  give  me  a 
cup  o’  tea  in  my  hand,  can’t  ye,  without  much  charge?  I  don’t  car* 
fbr  milk  and  sugar. 


10 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 


[ACT  I. 


Land.  You  better  walk  in,  ma’am. 

G.  R.  No,  I  guess  I  ’li  stay  here.  I  shan’t  be  to  no  trouble 
Seating  herself  on  her  baggage,  and  opening  her  bandbox.)  And 
iee  here,  you  sir  !  if  you  know  of  anybody  that ’s  going  right  by  Bim- 
’lech’s  house,  that  I  can  ride  with,  I  wish  you ’d  let  me  know.  I  don't 
re’ly  feel  as  though  I  could  afford  to  hire  a  wagon  a-puppu3. 

Land.  I ’ll  see,  ma’am.  {Exit,  l.) 

G  R.  Fiddlestick’s  eend  !  he’ll  see  !  These  landlords  !  Nothing 

new  would  suit  him  better - Sakes  alive  !  ( Takes  a  bonnet  from  the 

bandbox.)  I  vum  1  I  ’ve  a  good  mind  —  I’ll  have  that  driver  prose¬ 
cuted  !  That  best  bonnet,  ’t  I  ’ve'kept  new,  for  Sundays,  these  nine 
year:  ( Presses  it  into  shape.)  I  wish  I’d  staid  to  Sawney  Hook. 
(Sneezes.)  I  knowed  I  was  lcetchin’  cold.  Settin’  right  in  a  draft  of 
air!  (Pulls  her  shawl  about  her  neck.)  Sich  mis’rable  taverns  !  (On 
the  point  of  sneezing  again,  with  the  bandbox  in  one  hand,  and  the 
bonnet  in  the  other. ) 

Enos  Crumlett.  (Without,  R. )  Yes,  much  obleeged  to  ye;  I’m 
in  suthin’  of  a  hurry.  Keep  an  eye  on  my  team,  will  ye?  (Enter¬ 
ing.)  Do  as  much  for  you  some  time.  Wal  !  chance  for  a  spec ’la- 
tion. 

G.  R.  Ca-shoo  !  (Sneezing.) 

Enos,  (r.)  I  should  think  so  !  Might  have  hitched  a  yoke  Of  cat¬ 
tle  to  that  sneeze. 

G.  R.  I ’m  ketchin’  my  death  o’  cold  !  It ’s  so  strange  Bim’lech’s 
folks  — 

Enos.  Good-arternoon  !  how  de  dew?  ’Pear  to  be  travellin’. 

G.  R.  I ’ve  had  the  hardest  ja’nt,  in  that  plaguy  old  stage  !  —  I 
want  to  go  to  Bim’lech  .Jackwood’s. 

Enos.  (Aside.)  Chance  for  a  spec’lation. 

G.  R.  BimTech  Jackwood ’s  a  son-in-law  o’  mine.  Mrs.  Jackwood, 
Betsey  Rigglesty  that  was,  is  my  darter. 

Enos.  Sho  !  then  this  is  Mrs.  Rigglesty  ?  How  de  dew,  agin  ?  My 
name ’s  Crumlett  -  Enos  Crumlett.  You ’ve  heerd  tell  of  Enos,  han’t 
ye  ? 

G.  R.  I  do’nc  —  seems  to  me  I  have.  (Aside.)  He ’s  re’l  kind  o’ 
perlite,  any  way. 

Enos.  Yes,  Enos  Crumlett.  I  live  over  by  Neighbor  Jackwood’s.  1 
keep  house  long  with  mother.  Mother  an’t  very  well  ;  she ’s  been 
ailin’  more  ’n  a  year,  now. 

G.  R.  What  ’pears  to  be  the  matter? 

Enos.  ’Pears  to  be  a  trouble  in  her  spine. 

G.  R.  That ’s  a  terrible  complaint.  I  believe  I ’ve  got  a  spine  in 
nay  back,  (Moving.)  0,  0  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  ’t  would  n’t  be  a  bit  strange  if  you  have. 

G.  R.  It ’s  the  terrible-est  crickin’  pain  —  0,0! 

Enos.  That ’s  it  ;  my  mother ’s  the  same  way.  She ’s  bin  a  terribla 
sufferer. 

G.  R.  Wal,  she ’s  fortinit  in  havin’  a  son  that  pities  her.  How 
I ’m  goin’  to  git  over  to  BimTech’s  I  can’t  consaive  !  You  don’t  know 
anybody  goin’  that  way ’t  I  can  ride  with,  do  ye  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  no;  do’no ’s  I  dew.  Le’  me  see, — no.  I’m  dowa 
here  with  a  team  ,  but,  then,  ’t  would  be  out  of  my  way. 


»CENE  II.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


11 


G.  R.  0,  would  it  ?  Jest  for  accommodation,  ye  know.  My  dar¬ 
ter’s  folks  would  be  ever  so  much  obleeged  to  ye. 

Enos.  Wal,  I ’m  sorry  ;  I  ’d  like  to  accommodate  ;  but  I ’m  in  a  des« 
prit  hurry. 

G.  R.  I  s’ pose  I  could  pay  ye  for  yer  trouble. 

Enos.  ( Aside .)  Chance  for  a  spec’lation. 

G.  R.  I  don’t  feel  as  though  I  could  atford  to  stay  here,  runnin’  up 
a  bill  of  expense. 

Enos.  Wal,  you ’re  right  there.  The  landlord  —  ’tween  you  an’ 
me  an’  the  side  o’  the  house  —  never  mind  .  I  an’t  none  o’  the  med¬ 
dlin’  sort  —  only  look  out,  that ’s  all  I  got  to  say. 

G .  R.  See  here  !  is  he,  though  ?  I  knowed  he  was  by  his  looks.  I 
Was  goin’  to  take  a  cup  o’  tea  ;  but  I  won’t.  I ’m  glad  I  did  n’t  go 
In.  See  here,  what  ’ll  it  be  wuth  ?  ’T  won’t  be  very,  much  out  o’  your 
way,  will  it  ?  -  - 

Enos.  Don’t  see  how  I  can,  any  way  in  the  world.  Don’t  like  to 
leave  ye  here,  though.  I’m  in  a  desprit  hurry.  Seein’  it ’s  you,  if 
you  ’re  a  mind  to  gi’  me  a  quarter  —  though  I  don’t  hardly  see  how  I 

«an. 

G.  R.  I  guess,  then,  if  it’s  goin’  to  be  so  much  trouble,  I  won’t 
bender  you.  (Aside.)  As  for  paying  a  quarter  —  I  guess  I  ’ll  wait 
for  BimTech. 

Enos.  Wal,  mebby  ye  better,  on  the  hull.  I  did  n’t  see  how  I  could 
take  ye, —  though,  of  course,  I  would  for  accommodation.  If  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  don’t  send  for  ye,  I  ’ll  let  him  know  in  the  mornin’  you  ’re  here 
I  've  got  a  letter  to  send  down  to  his  house.  (  Going.) 

G.  R.  0,  you  sir,  see  here  ! 

Enos.  Of  course,  though  I  ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry. 

G.  R.  Did  you  say  a  letter  for  Bim’lech’s  folks  ? 

Enos.  Yes,  one  I  took  out  o’  the  office  for  him.  (Reads.)  “  Abime- 
Jt*ch  Jackwood,  Huntersford,  on  the  Crick.”  • 

G.  R.  My  stars  !  it ’s  the  very  letter  I  wrote  a  week  ago 

Enos.  Sho  !  you  don’t  say  ? 

G.  R.  I ’m  provoked  as  I  can  be  !  Send  a  letter  to  say  you  ’re 
Aomin’,  pay  the  postage  on ’t,  too  !  There ’s  three  cents  gone  !  Bim- 
riech  is  so  slack  ! 

Enos.  ’T is  provokin’.  (Aside.)  Chance  for  a  spec’lation. 

G.  R.  I  don  ’t  see  but  I  shall  haf  to  git  ye  to  carry  me  over,  arter 
all.  Say  a  shillin’,  can’t  ye ? 

Enos.  Wal,  if  I  must  dew  it,  —  though  I’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  ; 
besides,  I  owe  the  blacksmith  a  shillin’,  and  if  you  can  just  as  well 

pay  me  now - Guess,  though,  on  the  hull,  I  better  not  step.  I ’m 

in  a  desprit  hurry.  ( Going.) 

G.  R.  (Taking  out  her  purse.)  Here,  sir  !  le’  me  see  if  I ’ve  got 
a  shillin’. 

Enos.  Goin’  to  obleege  me  to  take  it,  be  ye?  Wal,  if  I  must  — 
anything  for  accommodation,  ye  know. 

G.  R.  It ’s  one  cent  short  ;  but  I  don’t  s’pose  you  ’ll  stan’  about  a 
cent. 

Enos.  Wal,  —  no,  —  not  exac’ly  ;  I  an’t  one  o’  that  sort  ;  but,  if 
t ’m  to  pay  the  blacksmith,  I  would  n’t  like  to  ’pear  mean.  So,  if  y« 
happen  to  have  the  odd  copper,  ye  know  — 

G .  R.  Massy  sakes  !  do  take  it ! 


12 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[ACT  L 


Enos.  All  right !  Don’t  think  I  —  of  coarse,  ye  know  (  Pockets 
the  change.)  Ready?  I ’ll  bring  my  team  up  along.  I’m  in  suthin* 
of  a  hurry.  {Exit,  r.) 

G.  R.  Wal,  I  got  olf  cheaper  ’n  I  expected.  He  ’s  jest  about  the 
only  re’l  accommodatin’  man  ’t  I’ve  come  acrost.  {Gathers  up  her 
bundles.)  I  kind  o’  begrudged  him  the  odd  cent,  though. 

Landlord.  {Entering,  d.  f.)  I  ’ve  found  a  man  that  is  going  right 
by  Mr.  Jackwood’s  house. 

G.  R.  0,  have  ye?  {Aside.)  I  s’pose,  now,  he ’ll  make  a  charge 
of  that.  •  v 

Land.  You  can  ride  just  as  well  as  not. 

G.  R.  Can  I  ?  What  a  pity,  now,  I  paid  that  Crumlett  ! 

Land.  Crumlett  ?  Why,  he ’s  the  very  man  ! 

G.  R.  0,  it  is,  hey  ?  I  hired  him  to  go  out  of  his  way,  and  take 
me. 

Land.  Out  of  his  way?  There’s  only  one  road,  and  that  goes 
right  by  Mr.  Jackwood’s  door.  He ’s  been  starting  for  home  this 
hour,  only  he  stopped  to  get  hold  of  some  kind  of  speculation. 

G.  R.  That ’s  his  desprit  hurry  ! 

Enos.  {Reenters,  r.)  Team’s  ready,  ma’am.  I’m  in  suthin’  of 
a  hurry. 

Land.  If  you  don’t  like  to  ride  with  him,  you  can  stay  and  send 
word  to  Mr.  Jack  wood. 

Enos.  This  baggage  goes  along  too,  I  s’pose. 

G.  R.  No  ;  I ’ve  concluded  not  to  go,  myself. 

Enos.  0,  have  ye?  Changed  yer  mind?  Glad  o’  that  ;  I  did  n’t 
see  how  I  could  — 

G.  R.  So,  if  you  ’ll  jest  give  me  back  the  shillin’  — 

Enos.  0,  give  you  back  the  shillin’  ?  Of  course.  Come  to  think, 
though  —  here,  I  gave  it  to  the  blacksmith  !  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

G.  R.  {Aside.)  Men  are  so  hateful  !  Help  me  with  these  bundles, 
then.  0,  my  back  !  {Drops  the  bundles,  or  the  bag  and  umbrella , 
as  fast  as  Enos  hands  them  to  her.  Landlord  assists.)  Now,  don’t 
tear  that  chist  all  to  pieces,  loadin’  on ’t  up.  I  wish  I ’d  staid  down 
to  Sawney  Hook  !  {Exit,  R.) 

Enos.  Give  us  a  lift  here,  landlord.  —  Chance  for  a  spec’lation. 

{Exeunt,  a.) 


SCENE  III.  —  Mr.  Jackwood’s  Kitchen.  Camille  discovered ,  in  a 

plain,  neat  dress,  with  the  articles  of  her  disguise  in  her  hand. 

Camille.  How  kind  these  good  people  are  to  me  !  And  I  must  de¬ 
ceive  them.  Good  Mr.  Jackwood,  if  I  might  tell  him  everything  !  I  am 
frightened  at  the  thought  of  it  !  This  repose  is  so  delicious  to  me  —  it 
is  so  sweet  to  feel  that  I  am  safe  for  a  little  while  !  I  must  put  this 
bundle  away.  The  very  sight  of  it  reminds  me  of  what  I  have  suf 
fered.  {Places  it  in  a  closet,  R. )  There,  I  hope  I  shall  never  be 
obliged  to  appear  in  that  wretched  disguise  again.  Mrs.  Jackwood  hat 
made  me  a  present  of  this  dress  —  how  kind  it  was  in  her  !  They  arc 
all  so  good  to  me  !  (  H  'eeps. ) 


SCENE  III  J 


NEIQUBOR  JACKWOOD. 


la 

Enter  Phoebe,  d.  f.,  ringing.  Stops  suddenly ,  and  looks  at  Camillb. 

Phos.be.  What  can  be  the  matter  with  her?  I  don’t  believe  you  like 
it  here  very  well,  do  you  ? 

Cain,  (l.)  Ah,  I  like  it  too  well,  Phoebe  ! 

Ph.  It  is  a  real  mean  old  house,  I  think  !  If  father  ’d  build  a  new 
one,  and  fit  it  up  in  style,  I  don’t  know  ;  but, as  it  is,  I’m  as  unhappy 
as  I  can  be. 

Cam.  {Aside.)  She  unhappy  !  Ah  !  if  you  only  knew  what  it  is  to 
be  without  a  home  ! 

Ph.  Father  tells  me  I  don’t  know  how  to  appreciate  a  home.  But 
I  can’t  help  it.  I  can’t  be  contented  here. 

Cam.  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  soon  change  both  your  name  and 
abode. 

Ph.  I  won’t  marry  a  farmer,  any  way  !  I ’ve  always  said  that,  and 
I  'll  stick  to  it,  if  I  live  an  old  maid  !  {Looks  in  the  glass,  and  puts  on 
airs.)  Father  says  he  bets  I  ’ll  go  through  the  woods  and  take  up 
with  a  crooked  stick.  I  don’t  care  ;  I  ’ll  have  a  merchant,  or  a  law¬ 
yer,  if  anybody.  I ’m  glad  Hector  Dunbury  is  come  home  ! 

Cam.  {Starting.)  Hector  ! 

Ph.  There  an’t  a  girl  in  this  town  but  that  would  give  her  eyes  to 
get  him.  I ’m  sure  /  would  ! 

Cam.  {Aside.)  Hector  —  Hector  Dunbury  ! 

Ph.  He  has  n’t  been  home  for  a  year  ;  he ’s  been  living  in  Mobile 

Cam.  Mobile  !  {Aside.) 

Ph.  You  ’re  going  to  stay  with  us  a  good  while,  an’t  ye? 

Cam.  {Troubled.)  Hector  !  he  is  the  same  !  If  we  should  meet ! 

Ph.  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  don’t  like  staying  here,  I 
know  ! 

Cam.  Dear  Phoebe,  it  is  so  quiet,  so  peaceful  here,  and  your  kind¬ 
ness  to  me,  a  stranger  to  you  all,  makes  it  seem  like  paradise  !  You 
had  some  sewing,  —  that  collar,  —  bring  it  to  me.  I  will  show  you 
how  to  work  it. 

Ph.  0,  can  you  show  me?  I  have  been  bothered  to  death  with  that 
pattern!  I ’ll  get  it.  {Exit,  r.) 

Cam.  Hector?  And  yet,  perhaps  he  would  not  remember  me 

Ph.  ( Reenters ,  r.)  Here  it  is  ! 

Enter  Mrs.  Jackwood,  l.  2  e. 

0,  mother,  she ’s  going  to  show  me  how  to  do  this  pattern  ! 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  You  must  n’t  go  to  work,  now,  and  overtax  your* 
self. 

Cam.  It  is  a  mere  pleasure  to  do  this. 

Mrs.  J.  You  do  take  hold  on ’t  handy,  I  must  say  !  Some  folks 
never  can  learn  to  do  anything  handy.  It  makes  me  narvous  to  see 
’em  try 

Cam.  I ’m  afraid  I  should  draw  pretty  severely  on  your  patience 
sometimes. 

Mrs.  J.  You  could  put  up  with  a  little  frettin’,  I  guess.  It ’s  my 
natur’  to  fret  ! 

Ph.  Take  my  word  for  that ! 

Mrs.  J.  You  need  n’t  say  that,  now  !  I  don’t  think  I ’m  any  gre’l 

2 


14 


NEIGHBOR.  JACKWOOD. 


fiOT  l 


of  a  fretter,  I  ’m  sure.  You  won’t  find  many  women  that  'll  put  up 
with  what  I  have  to  put  up  with,  depend  upon ’t  !  Don’t  say  agin ’t 
1  ’m  a  gre’t  fretter,  if  you  know  what ’s  good  for  yourself 

Grandmother  Rigglesty.  (  Without ,  d.  f.)  Git  out  !  git  out,  you 
sir  !  ( Dog  barks.) 

Mrs.  J.  Who  is  that  calling  ? 

G.  R.  (  Entering ,  d.  f.,  with  bundles .)  Strange  to  me  people  will 
keep  a  yelpin’  cur  ! 

Ph.  Why,  it ’s  gran’mother  ! 

G.  R.  Pups  is  the  hatefullest  critters  ;  an’  I  detest  a  yaller  pup 
above  all  ! 

Ph.  You  are  my  Gran’mother  Rigglesty  !  ( Springs  to  embrace 

her.) 

G.  R.  ( Dropping  her  bundles.)  Is  this  Phoete?  My  sakes,  child, 
how  you  have  grow’d  !  0,  Betsey,  how  d’  ye  do  ?  (Coldly.) 

Mrs.  J.  Mother  !  what  a  surprise  !  Why  did  n’t  you  write,  to 
let  us  know  you  was  cornin’  ? 

G.  R.  Why  did  n’t  I  write  !  Don’t  none  o’  your  folks  ever  go  to 
the  post-office,  I  wonder  ?  I  wrote  a  week  ago  yes’day,  an’  the  letter ’s 
been  lyin’  in  the  office  here,  ever  sence.  ( Sitting ,  r.  c.) 

Ph.  Mother,  let  Bim  go  right  down  an’  git  it  ! 

Mrs.  J.  Phoebe,  run  and  call  your  father  ! 

G.  R.  (Sneezes.)  Do  shet  the  door  arter  ye  !  (Exit  Ph(ebe,  d.  f.) 
I’m  in  a  perty  state,  to  set  in  a  draft  of  air  !  You  ’ll  haf  to  larn 
to  shet  doors  arter  ye,  if  I  stay  here.  What  a  lookin’  door-yard 
you ’ve  got,  Betsey  !  Bim’lech ’s  so  shif’less  ! 

Mrs.  J.  0,  wal,  mother,  we  have  to  git  along  the  best  we  can. 

G.  R.  You  might  keep  decent  and  comf’table,  ’t  any  rate.  Bim* 
lech  wants  me  to  spur  him  up  ! 

Enter  Phcebe,  and  Abimelecii,  d.  f.,  running  and  laughing. 

Dear  me  !  how  rude  you  be,  childern  !  You  ’re  enough  to  take  one  ’■ 
head  off ! 

Abimelech.  (Chasing  Pikebe around  the  room.)  Pheeb  tickled  my 
back,  through  the  hole  in  my  shirt,  with  a  darned  old  pigweed  ;  and 
I ’m  goin’  to  pay  her  ! 

G.  R.  0  !  what  a  voice  !  it  goes  right  through  me,  jest  like  a  knipe  • 

Mrs.  J.  Bim’lech,  this  is  your  gran’mother. 

Abim.  I  know  it ! 

Mrs.  J.  Why  don’t  you  speak  to  her,  an’  not  be  so  boisterous  ? 

Abim.  (Sheepishly.)  I  d’no  what  to  say. 

G.  R.  Can’t  ye  give  me  a  sweet  kiss,  now?  Phoebe  did. 

Abim.  (Giggling.  I  do’  wanter  ! 

G.  R.  You  d’no  what  I  got  for  ye  in  my  chist  !  Mebby  it ’s  a  jack¬ 
knife,  now,  who  knows?  Wal,  you  ’re  a  notty  boy  ;  and  notty  boys 
don’t  git  no  presents. 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood,  d.  f. 

Hew  d’  ye  do,  Bim’lech  ? 

Mr.  Jackwood.  Wal,  gran’mother  !  I ’m  glad  to  see  ye  agin 
—  glad  to  see  ye  lookin’  so  well  an’  hearty  ! 

G.  R.  How  can  ye  talk  so  ?  My  constitution ’s  all  broke  to  pieces  ’ 
I  *ve  a  dre’ful  rumatiz  ;  an’,  what ’s  wus  ’n  all,  there  s  nobody  in  this 


SCENE  Iii.1 


NEIQHBOR  JACXWOOD. 


15 


world  ’t  has  the  leastest  mite  o’  charity  for  me,  n*  pity  on  my  suffer- 
in’s  !  ( Takes  a  handkerchief  from  bag,  and  wi}es  her  eyes.) 

Mr.  J.  (c.)  Wal,  wal,  gran’mother,  you’ll  get  your  reward,— 
if  not  here,  herearter. 

G.  R.  (  Weeping.)  Here  I  ’ve  slaved  and  slaved,  all  my  days,  and 
brought  up  a  large  family  o’  childern,  and  edicated  ’em  well  as  chi !- 
dern  ever  need  to-be  edicated,  an’  gin  ’em  all  a  good  settin’  out  when 
they  got  married,  an’  that ’s  all  the  thanks  I  git  for ’t  ! 

Mrs.  J.  0,  no,  no,  no,  mother  ! 

G.  R.  I  han’t  a  child  in  the  world  but  wishes  me  out  o’  the  way  ! 

Mrs.  J.  Don’t,  mother,  talk  so,  and  give  way  to  your  teel in’s. 

G.  R.  0,  wal,  if  I  distress  people,  I  s’pose  I  must  n’t.  (  Weeps.) 

Mr.  J.  Come,  come,  gran’mother,  we  all  like  to  have  you  here  ; 
on’y  don’t  make  yerself  unhappy.  Git  her  a  cup  of  tea,  mother. 
( Exit  Mrs.  J.,  r.)  Why,  what  a  han’some  han’kerchief  you’ve  got 
there,  gran’mother  !  Look  here,  childern  !  there ’s  a  print  o’  the  Good 
Samaritan,  large  as  life  —  almost  ! 

Abim.  (l. )  I  don’t  care  fur  her  ol’ han’kerchief ! 

Mr.  J.  ’Sh,  Bim’lech  !  Try  to  say  suthin’  to  please  her  !  What  a 
han’some  han’kerchief  that  is,  now  !  It ’s  a  lesson,  too,  for  us  all. 
Whenever  we  see  that  pictur’  o’  the  Good  Samaritan,  gran’mother, 
it  ’ll  remind  us  to  be  always  kind  and  charitable,  like  him. 

G.  R.  (  Wipes  her  eyes  with  the  handkerchief.)  There  an’t  half 
enough  Good  Samaritans  in  this  world  ! 

Abim.  (l.)  I’m  real  sorry  she ’s  come  here  to  stop  !  We  can’t 
have  no  fun  while  she ’s  round. 

Mr.  J.  Hush  up  !  You  must  n’t  talk  so.  It ’s  your  duty  to  love 
her,  an’  make  things  pleasant  to  her. 

Abim.  ( Crosses  to  r.)  How  can  a  feller  ?  Say,  Pheeb  !  how  do 
ye  like  her  ? 

Phoebe,  (r.  c.)  I  was  in  hopes  she ’d  be  jeal  good  an’  cosey.  But 
I  don’t  like  her  a  bit ;  so,  there  ! 

( Exit ,  d.  f.,  Abimelech  chasing  her  off.) 

Mr.  J.  Tut  !  tut  !  ( Approaches  Camille,  l.  c.)  To  work,  hey  ! 
Them  don’t  look  like  farmers’  wives’  hands  !  They  ’re  nimble  enough, 
though  !  You  know  how  to  make  ’em  useful,  I  see. 

Cam.  I  would  be  glad  to  make  them  so,  indeed  ! 

Mr.  J.  You ’d  want  some  ladyrlike  occupation,  though,  I  s’pose. 

G.  R.  Heugh  !  who  they  got  there  ? 

Cam.  I  would  not  care  much  what,  if  I  could  see,  now  and  then,  a 
kind  face  ! 

Mr.  J.  {Affected.)  Poor  gal  !  How  she  must  a’  suffered  !  Wal, 
wal  !  suthin’  ’ll  turn  up,  if  you  put  your  trust  in  Providence,  that ’s 
Bartin.  At  all  events,  we  ’ll  keep  ye  till  there  does. 

G.  R.  What  on  ’arth  !  An’t  ye  goin’  to  have  my  chist  brought 
in  ?  - 

Mr.  J.  0,  sartin,  sartin,  gran’mother  ! 

Enter  Enos,  d.  f. 

En*r.  (r.  C.)  0,  neighbor  Jackwood  !  There ’s  one  thing  l  com« 
perty  nigh  forgittin’.  Hen’s  a  letter  for  you.  Hello!  {See* 
C  4MILLE. ) 


18  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD.  [AOT  V 

Mr.  J.  Thank  jmu,  Enos.  Phoebe  told  me  about  the  letter.  Quite 
a  joke,  wan’t  it,  gran’mother  ? 

G.  R.  ( Regarding  them  -with  a  dark  scowl.)  Joke  ! 

Enos.  By  the  way,  neighbor,  I  thought  I ’d  jest  drive  my  team 
under  your  shed,  and  give  ’em  a  handful  of  hay,  seem’  1  ’d  brought 
the  oP  lauy  over. 

Mr.  J.  That ’s  all  right,  and  welcome,  Enos. 

G.  R.  I  thought  you  was  in  sich  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  yes  ;  wanted  to  git  my  team  to  chawin’  on  to  suthin’" 
—  wouldn’t  mind  a  little  bite  myself,  nuther,  if  it ’s  convenient,  ye 
know. 

Mr.  J.  Sartin  !  sartin  !  Just  help  me  git  gran’mother’s  chist  into 
the  entry,  then  we  ’ll  see  what  there  is  in  the  kitchen.  (  Exit,  o.  f.) 

Enos.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  ^  (Exit,  i>.  f. ) 

G.  R.  That  swindlin’  Crumlett  ! 

Enter  Mrs.  Jackwood,  r.,  with  tea ;  Grandmother  R.  sneezes. 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  Here,  mother  ! 

G.  R.  Who  is  that  critter  ? 

Mrs.  J.  Her  name  is  Charlotte  Woods.  She  was  travelling  an’  got 
lost,  somehow,  when  father  found  her,  an’  brought  her  home. 

G.  R.  (Stirring  her  tea.)  Fiddlesticks’  eend  !  Do  you  know 
anything  about  her? 

Mrs.  J.  Why,  no  ;  only  she  seems  a  re’l  pleasant  kind  o’  person. 

G.  R.  Bring  the  critter  along  here,  an’  le’  me  look  at  her  ' 

Enter  Phcebe,  r.,  with  cake. 

What ’s  that  ? 

Rhcehe.  It ’s  sponge  cake.  I  thought  you ’d  like  some. 

G.  R.  Sponge  cake  !  heugli  !  Le’  me  taste  on ’t  ! 

Ph.  (Aside.)  I  can’t  do  anything  to  please  her  ! 

G.  R.  What  tastin’  stuff !  Strange,  folks  can’t  have  as  hulsome 
vittels  as  they  used  to  have  !  Everything  turns  my  stomach  !  Tea  ! 
did  the  water  bile?  0,  wal,  I  may  as  well  give  up  eatin’  !  (  Takes  a 

pipe  from  her  bag,  and  fills  it.)  Bring  me  a  coal,  Phoebe. 

Mrs.  J.  (l.  c.,  to  Camille,  coming  forward.)  You  must  be  pre¬ 
pared  to  put  up  with  her  odd  notions.  You  ’ll  do  that,  for  my  sake. 

Cam.  What  would  I  not  do,  for  your  sake,  you  have  been  so  kind 
to  me  ! 

Mrs.  J.  This  is  Charlotte  Woods,  mother. 

G.  R.  (To  Pikebe.)  I  vum  !  you  do  mean  to  burn  me  to  death 
droppin’  hot  ashes  all  over  me!  Heugh  !  (Scowls  at  Camille. , 
What  ye  got  there?  (Smokes.) 

Ph.  (Showing  Camille’s  work.)  Isn’t  it  beautiful  ? 

G.  R.  Heugh  !  That ’s  a  perty  way  to  waste  one’s  time  !  Time ' 
money  —  ’d  ye  know  it  ? 

Cam.  It ’s  sometimes  better  than  money,  I  think. 

G.  R.  Better  ’n  money  !  better  ’n  money  !  What  on  ’aith  do  ye 
mean  by  that?  (S7iatches  the  collar.)  0,  I  see  !  This  is  very  fan- 
cical  !  But  what  does  the  Scripturs  say  about  vanities?  You’d 
better,  enough  on ’t,  be  to  work  on  suthin’  useful. 

Cam.  If  I  can  do  anything  to  gratify  dear  Phoebe,  here,  I  am  sa^ 
isfied  ;  I  would  not  think  such  work  useless. 


ICJCNE  111  J 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


17 


G.  R.  Gratify  her  !  Useless  ! 

C am.  If  it  displeases  you,  I  can  take  it  out  of  your  sight. 

( Exit ,  L.  i  e  ) 

G.  R.  That  guilty  look  !  that  guilty  look  ! 

Pli.  I  think  she  ’s  a  perfect  beauty. 

G.  R.  Beauty  skin  deep  !  If  your  mother  knows  what ’s  good  foi 
you,  miss,  she’ll  send  the  critter  away  from  here,  mighty  quick  ! 

Ph.  Mother  won't  send  her  away  ! 

G.  R.  What ’s  that  you  ’re  mutterin’  ? 

Mrs.  J.  Phoebe  ! 

Ph.  I  don’t  care  !  I ’d  take  Charlotte’s  part,  if  all  the  world  was 
against  her  ! 

G.  R.  ( Taking  out  handkerchief.)  Wal,  wal  !  I  expect  sich  treat¬ 
ment,  an’  I  must  larn  to  put  up  with  it.  (  Weeps.) 

Ph.  There ’s  the  good  Samaritan  again  ! 

G.  R.  My  own  darter’s  darter  sassin’  on  me  to  my  face  ! 

Mrs.  J.  Why  did  you  speak  so  to  your  gran’mother?  Go  along 
out  of  the  room  !  ( Exit  Phcebe,  l.)  Come,  mother,  we  want  you 

to  be  happy  here  ;  she  shan’t  speak  so  to  you  ag’in.  I  ’ll  go  an’  fix 
your  room  for  ye.  (Exit,  r.) 

G.  R.  (Suddenly  stops  weeping.)  The  trollop  !  She  wants  me  to 
take  her  in  hand  !  I  guess  things  will  go  a  little  different,  now  I  ’ye 
come  !  (Gets  up,  and  goes  peeping  around  the  room.)  What ’s  here? 
Where  does  Betsey  keep  her  presarves,  I  wonder  ?  ( Goes  to  closet ,  r.) 
I  ’ll  rout  that  hussy  the  fust  thing  !  Ho  !  what ’s  here  ?  Sakes  alive  ! 
an  ol’  merino,  sure ’s  I  live  !  (  Takes  out  Camille’s  disguise.)  Betsey 
never  had  sich  a  gown.  (Turning  it.)  It  can’t  be  Phoebe’s.  (Smell~ 
ing  it.)  It ’s  that  critter’s  !  Where ’s  the  pocket?  What  on  ’arth  ! 
An  old  woman’s  cap  !  —  Gray  hair  !  —  Spectacles  !  Marcy  on  me  ! 
It  all  comes  to  me,  clear  as  day  —  cap,  spectacles,  and  all  ! 

Enter  Enos,  d.  f.,  eating  a  piece  of  pie. 

Enos.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation. 

G.  R.  (Rushing  to  the  door ,  meets  him  face  to  face.)  Where  is  that 
hussy  ?  —  Han’t  you  gone  yit  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  no  ;  I  ’pear  to  be  doin’  perty  well  here.  (Aside.)  I ’d 
like  a  doughnut  to  go  with  this  pie.  (Exit,  d.  f.) 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood,  r. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  Why,  what  is  it,  gran’mother  ? 

G.  R.  Where’s  that  Charlotte?  Bring  her  in  here  !  W-w-w-hera 
ia  the  critter  ? 

Enter  Mrs.  J.,  r.,  Phcebe,  l.,  Camille,  l.,  and  Abimelech,  r. 

Mrs.  Jackwot  l.  (r.)  What ’s  the  matter? 

G.  R.  (R.  c.)  Matter  !  look  a’  this  ’ere  gown  ! 

Mrs.  J.  We ’ve  seen  it  ’afore,  han ’t  we?  Why,  it ’s  Charlotte’s  ! 

G.  R.  I  seen  it  ’fore  ever  you  did  !  A  stragglin’  woman  stopped 
to  Jacob’s,  down  to  Sawney  Hook,  an’  she  wore  this  very  same  gown, 
an’  green  spectacles,  an’  false  hair,  I  can  take  my  oath  !  (Puts  o* 
the  spectacles.)  ’T  was  this  critter  !  Look  up,  here  !  How  green  y« 
Jook  !  W  hat  ye  got  to  say  for  yourself,  hey  ? 

Camille,  (l.)  I  can  make  no  explanation. 

9* 


18  KEIUHB6R  JACKWOOD.  [AC1  l 

Mr.  J.  (l.  c.)  There  an’t  no  need.  It  *s  all  rignt  ,  1  ’ll  stan’  by 
ye  !  You  han’t  told  us  anything  new,  gran’mother. 

Cam.  But,  to  those  who  have  trusted  me,  I  would  say  this,  from  a 
grateful  heart.  I  have  not  willingly  deceived  any  one  ;  it  is  my  mis¬ 
fortunes  that  have  brought  me  here,  and  made  me  what  I  am. 

Mr.  J.  Poor  gal  !  poor  gal  ! 

Ph.  (l.  )  I  believe  you.  I  believe  every  word  you  say,  and  I  wish 
folks  would  mind  their  own  business  ! 

Mr.  J.  Phoebe  !  Phoebe  ! 

Abimelech.  Pitch  her  out  o’  the  winder  ;  I  would  ! 

G.  R.  You  —  you — sassy  things  ! 

Pk.  I  don’t  care  !  I  ’ll  stand  up  for  Charlotte  !  I  only  wish  some 
folks,  who  treat  her  so,  and  pretend  to  be  pious,  was  half  as  good  as 
she  is. 

Mr.  J.  Phoebe,  I  say  !  ( To  Camille,  who  appears  faint  and  dis¬ 

tressed.)  Never  mind  it  all !  Poor  gal !  poor  gal  !  I  ’ll  stand  by 
you  ! 

Cam.  Good  Mr.  Jackwood,  I  ’ve  brought  you  trouble  enough, 
already  ! 

Mr.  J.  Don’t  say  a  word  about  that  !  There,  sit  still.  Poor  gal  * 
poor  gal  !  Come,  gran’mother,  don’t  be  unreasonable.  Remember 
your  Good  Samaritan. 

Abim.  Send  her  back  to  Sawney  Hook  !  darn  her  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  ! 

G.  R.  0  dear  !  0  dear  !  0  dear  !  ( Falls  in  Mrs.  J.’s  arms.) 

Mrs.  J.  ( Eases  her  down  upon  a  chair,  r.  c.)  Don’t,  mother  ! 
don’t,  for  pity’s  sake  ! 

G.  R.  0  dear  !  0  dear  !  ( Handkerchief .) 

Cam.  (l.)  Good  Mr.  Jackwood,  let  me  go  !  do  let  me  go  ! 

Mr.  J.  (l.  c.)  Sit  still,  I  tell  ye  !  Poor  gal  !  poor  gal !  Come, 
gran’mother,  no  more  o’  this,  I  beg  on  ye  !  Le’s  have  peace  an' 
quiet,  here. 

G.  R.  I  won’t  stay  in  the  house  with  that  critter  a  day  ! 

Mr.  J.  Then  you  won’t  stay  in  my  house  !  Sit  still,  poor  gal !  sit 
still  !  Come,  come,  gran’mother  ! 

G.  R.  I  won’t !  I ’ve  been  trod  under  foot  long  enough  !  She  shall 
go  ! 

Mr.  J.  And  I  say  she  shall  stay  !  There,  there,  poor  gal  ! 

G.  R.  0,  0,  0,  0  ! 

Mr.  J.  No  more  o’  your  tantrums  !  I ’m  master  here  !  There 
there,  sit  still  ;  you  are  among  friends.  We  believe  in  doin’  as  we  ’i 
be  done  by,  in  this  house,  and  them  that  don’t,  can  go.  I ’ve  yet  to 
larn  to  refuse  a  cup  o’  water,  or  bread  and  shelter  to  any  human 
critter.  There,  there,  poor  gal  !  poor  gal  !  (G.  R.  in  a  paroxysm. 

Mrs.  J.  soothing  her.  Abimelech  making  sport  of  her ,  behind  hei 
back.  Camille  struggling  to  go  ;  Ph®be  and  Mr.  J.  detaining  her 
Quick  :urtain.) 


I JEKE  I.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


19 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.  —  A n  Orchard.  Hector  seated  on  a  rustic  bench ,  c.,  read « 

ing.  A  gun  by  his  side  ;  a  fishpole  leaning  against  a  tree. 

Hector.  What  do  these  story-writers  know  about  love?  ( Flings 
down  book.)  Here  I  have  been  watching  the  gate,  and  trying  to  read, 
these  two  hours.  I  wonder  what  time  it  is.  ( Looks  at  his  ivatch .) 
I  ’ve  been  here  just  half  an  hour  !  I  ’ll  go  a-fisliing.  No,  I  won’t,  — 
I  ’ll  shoot  some  squirrels.  ( Takes  up  gun.)  I  won’t  be  a  fool  any 
longer.  I  ’ll  do  something  besides  watching  for  a  pretty  face.  Of 
course,  she  can  never  be  anything  to  me.  1  wonder —  ( looks  through 
the  trees)  —  no,  that ’s  Bridget.  Confound  Bridget!  I  won’t  go 
a-hunting,  either.  ( Takes  jishpole,  and  arranges  the  line.)  I ’ll  make 
some  excuse,  and  ask  her  to  go  a-fisliing  with  me.  She  would  n’t  go  ; 
she ’s  as  shy  of  me  as  a  chicken  of  a  hawk.  Fishing ’s  a  bore  !  (  Flings 
down  the  pole.)  I  ’ll  shoot  at  a  mark  ;  that ’s  what  I  ’ll  do.  Let  me 
see  —  that  knot-hole.  (Takes  aim.) 

Enter ,  l.,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greenwich. 

Mr.  Greenwich.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  (Motions  her  to  walk  behind 

him. ) 

Mrs.  Greenwich.  0!  (Falls  behind,  deferentially.) 

Hec.  The  knot-hole  is  too  near  ;  a  baby  could  hit  that.  I  ’ll  shoot 
at —  (Turns,  and  levels  the. gun  at  Mr.  G.) 

Mr.  G.  Ho  !  young  man  !  take  care  !  (Steps  behind  Mrs.  G.) 

Hec.  Hello  !  Mrs.  Greenwich,  I  came  near  making  a  widow  of 
you. 

M r.  G.  That ’s  a  very  dangerous  instrument,  young  man  ! 

Mrs.  G.  We  came  to  tell  you  that  Robert  — 

Mr.  G.  (Crosses,  c.)  Mrs.  Greenwich!  —  My  son  Robert  is  ex¬ 
pected  to  arrive  this  afternoon,  and  we  are  inviting  his  friends  to  resort 
to  my  house  at  early  candle-lighting,  this  evening,  to  greet  his  return. 
(A  pinch  of  snuff .) 

Mrs.  G.  We  have  been  told  there  is  a  girl  staying  with  your 
mother  — 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  I  prefer  that  you  should  not  interpose 
your  remarks  while  I  am  speaking. 

Mrs.  G.  I  was  just  going  to  say  — 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  (  Waves  her  off.)  It  is  my  desire  le 

see  all  the  friends  of  myself  and  my  som  Robert — 

Mrs.  G.  I  was  going  to  ask  if  she  is  the  same  girl  Mrs  Jackwood 
spoke  of — 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  When  that  I  am  speaking  — 

Hec.  It  is  a  very  proper  question.  It  is  the  same  person. 

... Mrs .  G.  0,  yes  !  Charlotte  Woods  !  Mrs.  Jack  wood  spoke  in  the 
highest  terms  of  her —  (Mr.  G.  puts  up  his  hand.)  0,  excuse  me  . 

Hec.  But  Mrs.  Rigglesty  came,  and  Neighbor  Jackwood’s  house 
was  not  large  enough  for  both.  Jack  wood  threatened  to  drown  that 
amiable  old  lady  in  the  creek  ;  but  Charlotte  did  not  like  to  be  respons¬ 
ible  for  the  doubtful  loss  the  family  would  sustain  in  consequence,  so 


20 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[ACT  I* 


she  quietly  went  away.  I  found  her  the  next  morning  at  Mrs.  Wing’s, 
on  the  mountain  road,  when  I  was  in  search  of  an  attendant  for  my 
mother.  We  —  that  is,  my  mother  —  is  delighted  with  her. 

Mrs.  G.  Well,  you  must  come  and  bring  her.  You  and  Robert 
were  such  friends  when  you  were  in  Mobile  together  !  —  0  !  excuse 
me 

Hec.  Yes,  we  were  rather  intimate. 

Mrs.  G.  But  you  left  long  before  he  did. 

Hec.  On  the  contrary,  Robert  left  Mobile  at  least  two  weeks  before 
I  did. 

Mr.  G.  You  amaze  me  ! 

Hec.  Is  that  news  ?  I  supposed  Robert  kept  you  advised  of  his 
movements. 

Mrs.  G.  Why,  he  never  wrote  us  — 

Mr.  G.  I  am  speaking,  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  —  Son  Robert  must  have 
been  some  weeks  away  from  his  business,  then,  without  warning  me 
of  the  fact.  Unprecedented  conduct !  {A  pinch  of  snuff.)  Mrs. 
Greenwich,  we  will  go  ! 

Mrs.  G.  Don’t  let  it  trouble  you,  Mr.  Greenwich. 

Mr.  G.  Your  advice  is  uncalled  for.  Good-morning,  sir.  Mrs. 
Greenwich  !  {Exit,  l.,  with  Mrs.  G.) 

Hec.  There,  I  have  got  Bob  into  a  scrape  !  I  ’m  not  sorry.  He  is 
up  to  some  villany  ;  I  suspected  it  when  he  left  Mobile  so  suddenly 
0,  ’Squire  Greenwich  !  you ’ve  little  idea  what  a  wild  chap  that  son 
Robert  of  yours  is  !  —  Heavens  !  Charlotte  ! 

Enter  Camille,  r.,  with  a  small  basket.  She  is  crossing  the  stage , 
when  Hector  intercepts  her.  She  tyrjis  her  face  from  him. 

Hec.  0  —  I  beg  pardon  !  I  wish  to  inquire  —  What  shall  I  say  ? 
{Aside.)  How  is  my  mother,  this  morning? 

Camille.  Better.  Quite  cheerful.  {Going.) 

Hec.  {Detains  her.)  A  moment.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  —  about 
- —  my  mother. 

Cam.  Really,  I  cannot  stop.  I  am  going  to  Mr.  Jackwood’s  for 
some  pears  to  roast  for  her. 

Hec.  Give  me  the  basket.  There  !  Now  you  cannot  go  till  I  am 
ready  to  go  with  you.  Why  are  you  always  so  shy  of  me  ? 

Cam.  Shy  —  of  you  ? 

Hec.  You  turn  your  face  from  me  now,  as  if  you  were  afraid  I 
would  throw  vitriol  into  it.  See  !  I  haven’t  any  vitriol  !  Do  you 
know,  there  is  something  peculiar  about  your  face.  It  reminds  me  — 
How  perplexing  !  —  ( Taps  his  forehead. ) 

Cam.  {Aside.)  0  !  I  cannot  endure  this  !  Do  please  give  me 
the  basket  ! 

Hec.  Ask  me  in  that  voice,  and  I  will  give  you  anything  —  except 
permission  to  leave  me.  I  am  the  loneliest  wretch  in  the  world  ! 

Cam  You,  who  have  so  many  friends? 

Hec.  Friends  !  My  old  schoolmates?  Their  talk  is  of  oxen,  horse 
trades,  and  fat  hogs  ;  —  conversation  agreeable  enough  in  its  way,  but 
unsatisfactory  on  the  whole.  If  I  wish  to  lead  their  minds  to  poetry, 
art,  or  the  miracles  of  life  and  growth,  they  branch  out  on  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  onions,  and  tell  what  beds  of  ’em  *  me  and  father  ’  raised  last 
year  !  - 

Cam.  But  the  young  ladies  — 


BCENE  I.]  NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD.  21 

Hec.  Some  of  them  are  pretty  and  intelligent.  But  see  how  our 
modern  village  girls  are  educated  !  Conventionality  and  expediency 
are  their  two  hands  The  principal  use  of  their  ears  seems  to  be,  to 
catch  the  answer  to  the  important  question.  What  will  the  world  say  ? 
But  the  worst  of  all  is,  they  have  been  taught  by  their  wise  mammas  to 
subordinate  all  their  motives  and  aspirations  to  a  low  matrimonial 
ambition.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  nose  they  follow,  with  one  eye  on  con. 
venience,  the  other  on  respectability.  And  they  are  so  sharp  at  this 
practice  that  it  is  dangerous  for  an  unmarried  fellow,  like  myself,  to 
approach  them.  It  is  refreshing  to  find  one  sensible  girl,  like  you, 
who  has  no  thought  of  being  fallen  in  love  with. 

Cam.  Oil?  That  would  be  insane  in  me,  indeed  ! 

Hec.  And  yet,  the  idea  is  not  so  absurd.  Had  I  seen  you  no  longer 
ago  than  when  I  was  in  the  South  — 

Cam.  (Agitated.)  0  !  You  must  let  me  go  now  ! 

Hec.  (Holding  her  hands.)  Who  — what  are  you  ? 

Cam  I  —  a  child  —  a  mere  child  ! 

Hec.  But  children  do  not  keep  us  at  arms’  length.  Children  are 
trusting  and  simple. 

Cam.  I  cease  to  be  a  child  when  you  would  make  me  your  friend. 

Hec.  And  why  not  my  friend? 

Cam.  I  am  not  worthy  ! 

Hec.  Not  worthy  !  Not  worthy  !  0,  Charlotte,  do  I  not  know 

your  heart  ? 

Cam.  But  you  do  not  know  my  past. 

Hec.  Although  you  have  told  me  nothing,  I  know  how  you  have 
suffered.  And  it  is  for  this  I  would  have  you  my  friend,  and  be  yours. 

Cam.  Remember —  reflect !  I  am  but  your  servant. 

Hec.  Servant !  I  hate  the  word.  It  sounds  too  much  like  slave. 
(Camille  covers  her  face  with  her  hands.)  There  is  no  servitude  to 
the  soul  but  ignorance  and  passion.  Had  I  found  you  in  the  meanest 
capacity  — in  absolute  bondage,  even  —  Nay,  do  not  weep  !  I  have 
grieved  you  ! 

Cam.  0,  no  ;  it  is  nothing  — 

Hec.  An4  yet,  I  have  touched  some  chord  that  suffering  has  made 
sensitive.  How  you  distrust  me  ! 

Cam.  (After  a  struggle  within  herself ,  looks  up  earnestly  in  his 
face.)  Hector  Dunbury,  you  have  been  kind  to  me.  I  cannot  deceive 
you  !  If  you  knew  my  history,  you  would  put  me  from  you  !  — scorn 
me  !  It  is  the  consciousness  of  this  that  shoots  me  through  with  pain, 
when  I  remember  myself,  you,  and  the  gulf  between  us. 

Hec.  Show  me  that  gulf ! 

Cain.  No,  no  !  It  is  there  !  Believe  me,  it  can  never  be  passed 
over  !  There  !  let  me  go  !  (Snatches  up  the  basket,  which  Hector 
has  placed  upon  the  ground,  and  runs  off  the  stage,  l.) 

Ha:.  (Stupefied.)  What  mystery  is  this!  It  involves  my  life  ! 
Charlotte  !  Charlotte  !  (Exit,  l.) 

'  *  If  i  7  \  !  V 

SCENE  II.—  A  Roadside.  Enter  Hector,  l.,  and  Enos,  b. 

Enos.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  ! 

Hector.  She  passed  this  way.  My  mother  called  me,  or  I  should  hav® 
overtaken  her.  The  immortal  Cruinlett  ! 


2^  NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 

Eni  s  Good-mornin’,  neighbor  ! 

Hec.  Good-morning,  Enos  !  (  Crosses  R.) 

Enos.  Look  here,  half  a  jiffy,  neighbor.  I  ’m  in  suthiu’  tf  a  hurry  , 
myself — 

Hec.  So  am  I. 

Enos.  Is  yer  ma  perty  well,  this  mornin’  ?  I  mean,  perty  well  for 
her. 

Hcc.  Yes,  thank  you.  Speak  quick  !  —  what  do  you  want  ? 

Enos.  Must  take  time  to  inquire  about  our  neighbors  that’s  sick. 
I  kind  o’  feel  more  for  sick  folks  than  I  did  ’fore  ma  was  took  down. 
I ’m  afraid  ma  an’t  goin’  to  be  with  us  much  longer.  She  don’t  get 
no  better,  as  I  see. 

Hec.  Well,  another  time  — 

Enos.  Le’  me  tell  ye  what ’s  for  yer  own  interest  to  know,  won’t 
ye  ?  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry,  myself. 

Hec.  Despatch,  then  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  you  see —  You  don’t  carry  tobacker  with  ye,  do  ye?  — 
Wal,  never  mind  ;  though  I  can  allers  git  along  a  good  deal  better  if 
I  have  a  chaw.  You  see  — 

Hec.  Come  to  the  point  ! 

Enos.  Wal.  as  I  was  goin’  to  say,  I  was  over  the  mountain,  yis’day  ; 
and  as  I  was  drivin’  along  there  by  the  mill,  ye  know,  I  met  a  couple 
o’  chaps  in  a  buggy.  Hello  !  thinks  says  I,  chance  for  a  spec’iation 

Hec.  Well,  well! 

Enos.  Don’t  be  in  sich  a  pucker!  I’m  cornin’  to  the  p'int. 
“  Hello  !  says  I,  “  can  you  tell  me  where  this  road  leads  to  ?  ”  says 
I.  “  Can’t  say,”  says  they  ;  “  we  ’re  strangers  in  these  parts,”  says 
they.  “That’s  a  perty  slick-lookin’  kind  o’  beast  you’re  drivin,” 
says  I.  “  Wal,  yis,”  says  one  of  ’em,  says  he.  “  She  is  ^  decent 
bit  of  hoss  flesh,”  says  he. 

Hec.  Well,  well  ! 

E  nos.  Wait  a  minute.  Wish  I  had  a  chaw  o  robacker  !  The  min¬ 
ute  I  sot  eyes  on  that  mare,  thinks  says  I  to  myself,  I  mutf.  have  that 
critter.  So,  says  I,  “Ye  an’t  over  an’  above  anxious  isi  a  swap,  I 
s’pose?  be  ye?  ”  says  I.  “  Don’t  know,”  says  he.  *•  V  hat  ye  got 
there  ?”  says  he.  “Wal,”  says  I,  “you  can  see  for  yourself,” 
says  I. 

Hec.  I  can’t  stop  to  hear  this  nonsense  ! 

Enos.  Wait  till  I  tell  ye.  He  gi’  me  a  chaw.  a/C  we  looked  an’ 
talked  around.  “  Wal,”  says  I,  “  what  do  ye  say  to  «  dicker  ?  ”  says 
I.  “  How  much  boot  ye  goin’  to  gi’  me?”  says  I  Says  he,  “I 
guess  the  boot  ’ll  be  on  t’  other  foot,”  says  he.  “  In  that  case,”  says 
I,  “  I  may  as  well  drive  along.  I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry,”  says  I. 
“  Give  me  ten  dollars,”  says  he.  Thinks  says  I,  chance  for  spec¬ 
’iation  !  “  Could  n’t  think  o’  sich  a  thing,”  says  I.  “  Tell  ye  what 

I  will  do,  though.  I  ’ll  call  it  an  even  swap.”  I ’d  no  idee  he  ’d  tak6 
me  up  on ’t.  But,  by  jingoes  !  he  did.  So  you  may  believe  I  jerked 
up  perty  quick  when  the  fish  bit.  “  Shift  the  luthers,”  says  I. 
Amthe  way  we  stripped  off  them  ’ere  hai'nesses  was  a  caution  !  “I’m 
in  suthin’  of  a  hurry,”  says  I. 

Hec.  What  has  all  this  rigmarole  to  do  with  me? 

Enos.  Wal,  ye  see,  that  ’ere  mare  —  she’s  jest  the  kind  o’  beasu 
now,  you  want. 

Hec  What  an  everlasting  fool  I  am  *  (  Rushes  from  the  since  a 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


28 


SCENE  II.] 

Enos.  Wal, —  that  Hector  !  he ’s  struck  all  of  a  heap  by  suthin’. 
Hello  !  it ’s  that  Charlotte  Woods  !  Jingoes  !  I  to^k  a  notion  to  that 
gal  myself,  an’  if  ’t  hadn’t  been  for  ’Tildy  — 

Enter  Matilda,  l. 

Matilda.  Enos  ! 

Enos.  Hello  !  why,  what ’s  to  pay,  ’Tild}r  ? 

Mat.  I  all  out  of  breath  !  I  ’ve  run  so  ! 

Enos.  Sho  !  What  is  it  ?  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  ? 

Mat.  ’T  an’t  genteel  to  run,  I  know.  Was  that  Charlotte  Wc  1 
saw  going  across  the  lot  ? 

Enos.  Overyender?  Yes.  What  about  Charlotte  Woods  ? 

Mat.  {Simpering.)  0,  nothing.  That  an’t  what  I  got  to  te  you. 

Enos.  Come  !  don’t  act  so  thunderin’  silly  ! 

Mat.  Silly?  0,  I ’m  silly,  am  I?  Glad  you  told  me  !  (/  tiling 

away.) 

Enos.  You  know  what  I  mean  !  Silly  —  of  course  it ’s  ailly,  to 
say  you ’ve  got  suthin’  to  tell  a  feller,  an’  then  act  that  way  !  Why 
can’t  ye  out  with  it  —  as  I  allers  do  ?  I  never  talk  round,  and  keep 
folks  waitin’  !  Come  !  what  is  it? 

Mat.  0,  if  I ’m  silly,  then  it ’s  no  matter  ! 

Enos.  Yes,  it  is  matter,  too  !  Don’t  be  offish,  ’Til<£^  !  By  jingoes  ! 
I  ’ll  break  otf  ! 

Mat.  Jest  as  well  !  If  you  want  to  break  off,  I ’m  willin’,  I ’m  sure  ! 
( Tosses  her  head.)  ’T  an’t  as  though  I  was  in  such  a  great  hurry  to 
get  married  !  Good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  was  caught  !  ( Going.) 

Enos.  Look  here  !  Le’s  have  it  understood.  If  you  want  to  break 
the  engagement  — 

Mat.  I  han’t  said  anything  about  breaking  the  engagement.  ’T  was 
you  said  you  wanted  to  break  off. 

Enos.  I  ?  I  don’t  want  to  break  off  !  If  you  want  to,  —  why,  of 
course  ;  only  I  shall  expect  you  to  gi’  me  back  that  tooth-brush  I  give 
ye.  I  can  find  somebody  else  that  wants  it. 

Mat.  I  guess  I  can  find  somebody  else  to  give  me  a  tooth-brush  1 
I  might  ’ave  got  Hector  Dunbury,  if  I ’d  a  been  a  mind  to. 

Enos.  0  !  ye  could,  hey  !  0  ! 

Mat.  They  say  he ’s  going  to  marry  Charlotte  Woods.  You  did  n’t 
know  I  could  a’  been  in  her  place,  did  ye  ? 

Enos.  Wal.„  no,  I  did  n’t  exac’ly  !  Did  yeu  ? 

Mat.  He  come  for  me  to  go  an’  take  care  of  his  mother,  the  very 
day  he  found  Charlotte  and  carried  her  home.  I ’d  been  two  terms  to 
Kiltney,  an’  Mrs.  Dunbury  wanted  me  for  a  companion. 

Enos.  0,  she  wanted  ye  for  a  companion,  did  she  ? 

Mat.  I  should  ’ave  gone,  only  you  know  I  an’t  obleeged  to  go  out 
for  a  living.  So  Miss  Woods  got  the  place  ;  but  I  don’t  care, —  she  ’a 
welcome  !  Though,  if  I ’d  taken  up  with  the  invitation,  who  knows 
what  might  have  happened  ? 

Enos.  {Caressing  her.)  Ye  don’t  mean  to  say  anybody  could  a’ 
got  ye  away  from  me,  do  ye  ? 

Mat.  Go  ’way  !  if  you  want  to  break  off  !  {Crying.) 

Enos.  I  don’t  want  to  break  off,  I  tell  ye  !  We  ’ll  git  married 
any  time  you  say.  Ma’s  health  is  failin’  of  her  so,  I  shall  want  ye  to 
oome  and  take  charge  o’  things  —  the  sooner  the  better. 


24  NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD.  [ACT  II 

Mat.  0,  you  want  me  jest  for  a  housekeeper,  do  ye  ?  0  !  glad  you 
told  me  ! 

Enos.  There  !  by  jingoes  !  I  won’t  have  anything  more  to  say  to 
ye  !  Good-by  ! 

Mat.  Enos  !  See  here  !  I  an’t  mad. 

Enos  An’t  mad  ?  What  makes  ye  such  a  thunderin’  fool  ?  I  tell 
ye,  I ’m  goin'  ! 

Mat.  I  han’t  told  ye  yet  what  I  was  going  to  ! 

Enos.  ( Coming  back.)  Why  don’t  ye,  then?  You  know  I ’m  in 
a  desprit  hurry  ! 

Mat.  Have  you  seen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greenwich  ? 

Enos.  {Sharply.)  No  !  I  han’t  ! 

Mat.  (  With  a  significant  simper.)  I  have. 

Enos.  Wal,  what  of  it  ? 

Mat.  You  ’ll  be  tickled  when  you  know  ! 

Enos.  Let  me  be  tickled,  then  !  Wal,  ef  you  an't! —  Now  I  am 
goin’  ! 

Mat.  If  you  go  you  won’t  hear  about  it.  Robert ’s  coming  home 
this  evening  ;  there ’s  going  to  be  a  large  party  at  ’Squire  Green 
wich’s  ;  and  me  and  you ’s  invited  ! 

Enos.  Sho  !  You  don’t  say,  ’Tildy  ! 

Mat.  You  may  thank  me  !  I ’d  be  invited,  of  course  !  and  as  me 
and  you ’s  engaged  — 

Enosi  Wal,  by  jingoes —  chance  for  a  spec’lation  ! 

Mat.  An’t  it  nice? 

Enos.  Wal,  —  I  swanny  !  What  in  Sam  Hill  has  got  into  ’Squire 
Greenwich  ?  He  never  did  sich  a  thing  ’fore  in  his  life  ! 

Mat.  It ’s  for  Robert. 

Enos.  Do  you  think  he  cares  so  much  for  Rob  as  that  ?  You  ’re 
green,  ’Tildy  ! 

Mat.  If  ’t  an’t  that,  what  is  it  ? 

Enos.  Why,  don’t  you  see?  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  ’Squire 
Greenwich  is  goin’  to  run  for  Congress,  —  don’t  you  see  ?  It ’s  plain 
as  a  brickbat  !  He  wants  to  make  himself  pop’lar. 

Mat.  0,  yes  !  How  sharp  you  be,  Enos  !  ( Admiringly .) 

Enos.  Wal,  I  be  some  sharp,  I  allow.  Guess  I  know  beans,  when 
the  bag ’s  ontied.  We  ’ll  go,  by  jingoes,  ’Tildy  !  An’  see  here,  — 
we  won’t  quarrel  any  more,  on  the  strength  of  that,  will  we  ? 

Mat.  Quarrel  ?  Who ’s  quarrelled  ?  I  han’t  quarrelled  ! 

Enos.  Why,  yes,  you  did  !  You  begun  it ! 

Mat.  No,  I  did  n’t  ! 

Enos.  I  say  you  did  !  Come  ! 

Mat.  You  always  lay  everything  to  me  !  You  ’re  real  mean  ! 

Enos.  There  !  that ’s  enough  !  If  I ’m  mean,  of  course  you  won’t 
want  anything  more  to  do  with  me.  We  ’ll  break  off  ! 

Mat.  Enos  !  don’t  go  ! 

Enos.  Good-by  !  If  I ’m  mean  !  ( Going.) 

Mat.  Don’t,  Enos  !  You  ’ll  kill  me  !  ( Runs  after  him ,  sobbing.) 

E?ios.  Good-by,  I  say  !  We  ’ll  break  off  !  Ye  need  n’t  cry  —  you 
tried  that  on  before  !  If  we  can’t  get  along  without  quarrellin’  — 

{Exit,  R.,  Matilda  following  him  ) 


B£EKE  III.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


5.5 


SCENE  III.  —  Mr.  Jackwood’s  Door-yard.  Set  house ,  r.  4  a 
j Barn,  ^c.,  flats.  Fields,  farm-liouses,  mountains  in  the  distance. 

Grandmother  Rigglesty.  {Without,  l.  u.  e.)  Git  out!  git  out! 
( Dog  barks.)  Help  !  help,  somebody  !  help  !  Bim’lech  !  Betsey  ! 
0  !  0  !  0  ! 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood,  from  house. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  Who’s  hurt? 

Enter  Abimelech,  l.  u.  e. 

Who  was  that  screamin’  so,  Bim’lech? 

Abimelech.  {Convulsed  with  laughter.)  It’s  her! 

Mr.  J.  Her?  Who?  Your  gran ’mother  ? 

Abim.  I ’m  glad  on ’t  !  Darn  her  ! 

Mr.  J.  Stop  your  laughin’  ! 

Abim.  She  neeu  n’t  a’  got  into  the  boat  ! 

Mr.  J.  {Smiling.)  Has  she  been  in  the  boat  ?  Quit  your  laughin’, 
I  tell  ye  ! 

Abim.  You ’d  a  laf’t  ! 

Mr.  J.  { Chokes  back  his  mirth,  and  looks  grave.)  No,  I  would  n’t. 
She ’s  your  gran ’mother.  Should  n’t  laugh  at  her  ! 

Abim.  She  went  to  get  an  apple  out  o’  the  crick  —  I  was  watchin’ 
behind  the  bushes  — 

Mr.  J.  Boy  !  {Laughs.) 

Abim.  She  could  jest  tickle  it  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  —  she  was 
in  the  boat,  reachin’  over,  and  groanin’  about  her  poor  old  back  — 
Mr.  J.  And  you  have  to  laugh  about  it  ! 

Abim.  Wal,  who  could  help  it?  If  you ’d  seen  Rover,  when  I  set 
him  on  !  — 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  !  did  you  set  the  dog  on  to  your  gran’mother  ? 
Abim.  I  only  jest  rubbed  his  ears  a  little,  and  said,  Sick  ’em,  Rove  ! 
Mr.  J.  0,  that  was  all,  was  it,  —  you  rogue  ! 

Abim.  0,  ho  !  ho  !  You  should  have  seen  him  jump  on  to  her 
back  !  Casouse  !  both  of  ’em  went  together  into  the  crick  ! 

Mr.  J.  {Laughing.)  B  —  B  —  Bim’lech  !  —  don  t  I  tell  ye  not  to 
laugh  ! 

Abim.  You  ’re  laughin’  yourself  ! 

Mr.  J.  I?  —  I’m  provoked  with  ye!  Git  yer  gran’mother  into 
the  crick,  and  then  laugh  at  her  !  Away  with  ye  !  Go  and  call  yer 
mother  !  {Laughs,  but  stops  suddenly,  as  Abimelecii  looks  around.) 
Start  !  {Exit  Abimelech,  into  the  house.)  I  never  see  the  beat  o’ 
that  boy’s  mischief !  {Exit  behind  the  house,  it.  e.  r.) 

G.  R.  {  Without.)  0  dear  !  I ’m  drownded  !  Betsey  !  Git  out, 
you  cur  !  {Dog  barks.) 

Enter, from  the  house,  Mrs.  Jackwood. 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  Where  is  she  ?  How  could  she  fall  into  the  creek  ? 

Enter  Camille,  l.,  laughing. 

Why,  Charlotte  !  how  do  you  do  ! 

Camille.  It ’s  wicked  for  me  to  laugh  —  but  I  have  been  so  much 
amused  ! 


8 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


L  act  n 


2(5 

Mrs.  J.  I  don’t  wonder.  Bim’leck  has  gone  into  fits,  from  seeing 
his  gran’mother  tumble  into  the  crick.  Has  she  got  out  safe? 

Cam.  Hector  helped  her  —  they  are  coming.  — 

Mrs.  J.  Walk  right  into  the  house.  Father  ’ll  be  so  glad  to  see 
you  ( Exeunt  into  house.) 

Enter,  l.  u.  e.,  Hector  and  Mrs.  Rigglesty,  with  wet  shoes  and  a 

dripping  apron 

G.  R.  (r.)  I ’ll  larn  her  —  the  trollop  ! 

Hector,  (l.)  Who  \s  a  trollop? 

G.  R.  That  Charlotte  !  She  was  laffin’  right  to  my  face  ! 

Hec.  If  she ’s  human,  she  could  n’t  help  it.  You  ’re  a  pleasing  ami 
picturesque  spectacle,  grandmother. 

G.  R.  Spectacle  !  —  I  ’ll  have  that  dog  killed  !  —  Jest  look  at  that 
apern  ! 

Hec.  You  seem  to  bear  a  peculiar  spite  against  Miss  Woods. 

G.  R.  Heugh  !  I ’ve  knowed  her  these  ten  year  ! 

Hec.  Charlotte  Woods  ! 

G.  R.  She  belongs  to  North  Nincum,  where  my  son  Enoch  lives. 
He  sent  me  a  newspaper,  with  a  piece  in  it  that  tells  all  about  her. 

Hec.  About  Charlotte  Woods  ! 

G.  R.  Her  real  name  is  Woodroofe.  I  cut  the  piece  out  —  I  got  it 
in  my  pocket,  somewheres.  Thei’e  it  is  —  wet  !  might  a  knowed 
;t  would  be  wet  !  (Hector  seizes  the  paper.)  Now,  if  I  don’t  come 
up  with  the  hussy  !  {Aside.) 

Enter ,  from  the  house,  Mrs.  Jackwood  and  Camille. 

Hec.  {Excited,  reading.)  Disgraced  her  family  !  fled  from  home 
in  disguise  ! 

G.  R.  ( Spreading  her  apron  out  to  dry.)  There ’s  Betsey  !  —  O’ 
0  !  my  back  !  Bring  a  chair,  somebody  ! 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood,  u.  e.  r. 

Mr.  Jaclavood.  {Cheerily.)  What’s  the  trouble,  gran’mother ? 
Been  in  the  crick,  have  ye?  Lucky  ye  did  n’t  git  drownded  !  {Laughs 
aside.) 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  {Bringing  a  chair  from  the  house.)  Set  right 
down,  mother.  (Mrs.  J.  helps  her  to  the  seat.) 

G.  R.  0  dear  !  0  dear  !  {Aside.)  I ’ve  give  that  Hector  a  dose  f 

Mr.  J.  There,  there,  gran’mother,  you  an ’t  dead,  arter  all.  ( Ob - 
serving  Camille.)  Bless  my  heart  !  I ’m  glad  to  see  you.  Welcome 
home  ag’in  ! 

Camille.  Good  Mr.  Jackwood  !  {They  retire  up  the  stage,  s.) 

Hec.  (  With  a  dark  glance  at  Camille.)  So  beautiful  and  89 
young  !  0,  distraction  !  {Strikes  his  forehead.) 

Mrs.  J.  Let  me  take  off  -your  wet  shoes  and  stoekin’s. 

G.  R.  No.  never  mind.  0  dear  ! 

Mrs.  J.  You ’d  better  let  me. 

G.  R.  0,  don’t  trouble  yourself !  {Undoing  her  shoes.) 

Mr.  J.  Ho,  Hector  !  I  was  so  glad  to  see  our  Charlotte  ag’in  I  for< 
got  you.  Uow  are  ye? 

Hec  Better  ' 

Mr.  J.  Have  you  been  ailin’  ? 


BCENE  III  ] 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 


21 


Hec.  A  slight  affection  of  the  heart.  It ’s  cured,  now. 

Mr.  J.  Glad  to  hear  it.  These  affections  of  the  heart  are  bad. 

G.  R.  Sakes  alive  !  look  at  that  shoe  !  Them  new  pair,  ’t  I  bought 
o’  that  plaguy  pedler  o’  yourn,  and  paid  ten  cents  more  for  ’n  I  ever 
pay  for  shoes,  on  account  of  the  ex  try  soles  ! 

Hec.  You  are.  young  yet,  gran’mother.  When  you  have  come  to 
my  years  you  will  learn  to  beware  of  extra  appearances.  As  with 
people,  so  with  shoes.  Give  me  a  glass  of  water,  Mrs.  Jackwood,  W’e 
are  promised  fish  for  dinner,  and  I  have  a  foreshadowing  of  thirst. 

Mr.  J.  Our  well  3  give  out,  this  summer.  Where ’s  Phoebe  ? 

Mrs.  J.  She  's  gone  to  the  spring,  for  water. 

G,  R.  She ’s  off  readin’  that  nasty  novil  book,  somewheres  !  [  *d 

burn  it  up,  if  she  was  a  child  of  mine  ! 

Hec.  If  she  was  a  child  of  mine  — 

G.  R.  Wal,  what  if  she  was  ? 

Hec.  Then  you  would  be  my  mother. 

G.  R.  There  ’s  that  hateful  Bim’lech  ! 

Enter  Abimelf.ch,  r.  u.  e.,  and  down  on  l. 

Abimclech.  Wal,  what ’s  Bim’lech  done,  I ’d  like  to  know  ! 

G.  R.  l)o  somebody  help  me  !  0  dear,  it  kills  me  to  move  ' 

Mr.  J.  { Assisting  her.)  Come,  come,  gran’mother  ;  you  can 
walk,  I  guess,  if  you  try. 

G.  R.  0  dear  !  0  dear  !  ( Rising ,  but  falls  back  again.) 

Cam.  How  do  you  do,  Abimelecli  ! 

Jlbim.  ( Bashfully .)  Pretty  well.  {Takes  a  clay  pipe  from  his 
pocket.) 

Cam.  What  do  you  do  with  a  pipe  ? 

Abim.  It  ’3  hern.  I ’m  goin’  to  put  some  powder  in ’t,  and  blow 
her  up,  to  pay  her  ! 

Hec.  I  take  it,  then,  she  blows  you  up,  sometimes. 

Abim.  I  put  thistles  in  her  han’kerchief  t’  other  day.  Golly  ! 
did  n’t  she  scream  ? 

Hec.  Charlotte  !  I  have  made  a  discovery. 

Cam.  {Aside,  with  consternation.)  Heavens  ! 

Hec.  It  is  —  there ’s  a  good  deal  of  sham  in  this  world,  and  — 
Grandmother  Rigglesty  is  a  humbug  !  {Exit,  l. ) 

Cam.  Hector  !  Mr.  Dunbury  !  One  word,  I  entreat !  {Exit,  l. ) 

G.  R.  0  dear  !  0  dear  !  I  never  can  git  into  the  house,  in  this 
world  ! 

Mr.  J.  Come,  come  !  You  can  walk,  if  you  only  think  you  can. 

A'oim.  {Lets  fall  the  pipe.)  By  darn  !  . 

G.  R.  What’s  that?  I  declare  !  {Starts  up.) 

Abim.  Might  keep  your  nasty  pipe  out  of  the  way  . 

G.  R.  You  sass-box  !  {Catches  up  the  chair ,  and  rushes  upon 
Abimelech.) 

Mr  J.  Don’t  ye  run,  boy  ! 

jlbim .  Keep  her  off,  then  !  {Seizes  hold,  of  the  chair.) 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  !  Bim’lech  !  Gran’mother  ! 

Mrs.  J.  Mother  !  mother  !  don’t ! 

Abim.  Darn  her  !  let  her  come  ! 

Mr.  J.  Do  ye  hear?  Bim’lech  !  Gran’mother  !  I  ’ll  tumble  ye  inti 
the  crick,  together  '  Give  me  that  chair  !  (  J  Frenches  the  chair  frov 


£8  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD.  WACT  II. 

them.  G.  R.  catches  up  her  apron ,  and  lashes  Abimelece  with  iL 
Aiumelech  sets  out  to  run ,  but  falls.  She  stumbles  over  him  ' 


SCENE  IV. - d  Lane ,  g.  1  Enter  Piicebe,  l.,  reading,  and  carry - 

ing  a  pail  of  water.  A  horn  in  the  distance,  n. 

Phcebe.  They  ’re  blowing  the  horn  for  me  to  come  home.  0  dear  ' 
I  never  shall  get  through  with  this  book.  {Horn.)  W-e-e-e-11 !  I’ll 
read  this  page  down.  I  shall  die  if  I  don’t  find  out  what  it  was  Melissa 
saw.  {Horn.)  W-e-e-e-11  !  It  ’s  too  bad  !  I  wish  I  could  just  finish 
this  chapter!  ( Exit,  r.,  reading.  A  stone  thrown  in.  She  rushes  back 
without  the  pail,  and  off,  l.,  screaming.)  0,  0,  0  1 

Enter,  r.,  Hector  and  Camille. 

Hector.  There ’s  unexpected  game  ! 

Camille.  I ’m  afraid  she  is  hurt. 

Hec.  Not  she.  else  she  would  scream  less,  according  to  the  rule  of 
shams.  If  a  man  is  frightened,  he  blusters  ;  if  hurt,  he  says  little  ; 
if  killed,  he  maintains  a  wise  silence. 

Cam.  Phoebe,  are  you  hurt? 

Ph.  {Reenters,  l.,  with  wondering  looks.)  I  guess  so!  I  ’rn  so 
soart  I  don’t  know  a  word  I  do,  or  anything  I  say  ! 

Hec.  Come  here,  Phoebe,  and  let  me  look  at  that  hole  in  your  head. 

Ph.  Is  there  one  ?  {Puts  up  her  hand.)  Where? 

Hec.  It  opens  every  time  you  speak.  (  Takes  her  hand,  and  places 
her  finger  in  her  mouth.).  There.  {Closes  her  teeth  upon  it.) 

Ph.  0  !  that ’s  just  like  you.  Hector  Dunbury  !  If  ’twas  anybody 
else,  I  never ’d  speak  to  you  again  !  What  was  that  came  through  the 
bushes  ? 

Hec.  A  hailstone,  Phoebe. 

Ph.  A  hailstone?  You  threw  it  ! 

Hec.  And  it  was  a  friendly  hail.  You  should  have  hailed  me 
pleasantly  in  return,  instead  of  running  off  in  a  fright. 

Ph.  I  guess  you ’d  have  been  frightened  to  have  a  great  rock  come 
thrashing  through  the  bushes,  when  you  was  reading  ! 

Cam.  What  book  have  you  ? 

Ph.  Alonzo  and  Melissa.  I  set  up  till  twelve  o’clock,  last  night,  and 
got  so  excited  over  it  I  could  n’t  sleep  a  wink,  but  see  balls  of  fire,  and 
heard  doors  slam,  and  felt  cold  hands  on  my  arm,  all  night.  {Horn 
blows.) 

Hec.  You  are  a  foolish  girl  !  Good-by  !  Your  mother  is  blowing 
the  bora  for  you.  {Crosses,  L.) 

Ph.  Don’t  hurry  off,  so  ! 

Hec.  I  ’ll  bequeath  you  that  fatal  stone,  Phoebe.  It  has  waked  you 
from  one  dream  of  romance,  and  it  may  save  you  from  many  another, 
if  you  treasure  it  as  a  type  of  man’s  heart,  and  contemplate  it  whenever 
you  think  of  falling  in  love.  —  True,  Charlotte? 

Cam,  If  that  is  a  type  of  man’s  heart,  what  is  a  type  of  woman’s? 

Hec.  Still  a  stone  ;  but  it  should  be  hollow  !  {  Exit,  l.) 

Ph.  Au’t  lie  the  strangest  mortal  you  ever  see  ?  I  ’ll  keep  this  stone, 
if  I  don’t.  (  Rot's  it  in  her  apron.) 


SCENE  IV.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


2$ 


Cam.  Good-by,  Phoebe  !  Be  a  good  girl  ! 

Ph.  Don’t  go  ! 

Cum.  I  must  !  Be  good  and  be  happy,  Phoebe  ! 

( Exit  C.vMl lie,  l.  ) 

“Robert  Greenwich  appears ,  creeping  stealthily,  r. 

Ph.  Don’t  go  !  There  an’t  nobody  in  this  world  cares  for  me  !  I 
wish  I  had  somebody  to  love  me,  as  Melissa  had.  (Horn  blows.) 
Well  !  I  wish  they ’d  stop  blowing  that  old  horn  ! 

Robert.  (In  a  whisper.)  Phoebe  !  Phoebe  ! 

Ph.  (Frightened.)  Who’s  that?  Who’s  there?  Since  I ’ve  been 
reading  about  those  horrid  nights  in  the  old  mansion,  I ’m  so  nervous  1 

Rob.  (Coming  forward.)  Phoebe! 

Ph.  0  !  Robert  Greenwich  ! 

Rob.  (Imposes  silence.)  \Sh  !  This  way  ! 

Ph.  What  a  stranger  you  are  ! 

Rob.  ’Sh  !  (Aside.)  I  must  flatter  the  little  goose.  See  here!  (Kisses 
her.) 

Ph.  0,  I  should  think  you ’d  be  ashamed  !  (Laughing.) 

Rob.  I  am.  Who  was  that  just  went  from  here  ? 

Ph.  Hector. 

Rob.  And  who  else  ? 

Ph.  Charlotte  Woods. 

Rob.  (  Kissing  her  again.)  Who ’s  Charlotte  Woods  ? 

Ph.  (Pouting.)  If  you  kiss  me  again,  I  ’ll —  (Aside.)  lie ’s  g^ 
a  splendid  moustache,  any  way.  —  Now,  be  decent,  Bob  Greenwich  1 
Somebody  ’ll  see  us  ! 

Rob.  (Aside.)  The  little  fool  !  Who  is  that  Charlotte — what  dia 
you  call  her  ? 

Ph.  Charlotte  Woods  !  0,  there ’s'  something  real  strange  about 

her.  When  she  first  came  to  our  house,  she  was  dressed  like  an  oid 
woman. 

Rob.  (Excited.)  It  is  she  !  It  is  she!  (Crosses,  l.)  Good-by, 
Phoebe  !  Here  !  (Comes  back ,  and  kisses  her.)  Good-by  ! 

Ph.  Why,  what ’s  your  hurry  ? 

Rob.  (Aside.)  She  shall  not  escape  me  again  !  Phoebe,  I  hear 
that  my  respectable  father  has  been  inviting  a  crowd  in  to  give  me  a 
welcome  home,  to-night.  You  ’ll  come,  of  course  ! 

Ph.  0  !  I  shall  be  delighted  ! 

Rob.  You  know  this  person  we  spoke  of —  this  Miss  Woods.  Can’t 
you  bring  her?  I  ’ll  give  you  forty  great  apples,  if  you  will,  and  as 
many  kisses. 

Ph.  I  ’ll  try. 

Rob.  But  don’t  say  I  spoke  of  it.  Mum ’s  the  word,  Phoebe  * 
3ood-by  !  (Aside.)  .0  !  this  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  J 

(Exit,  l. ) 

Ph.  I  never  was  kissed  by  a  moustache,  before  !  It ’s  real  nice.  I 
didn’t  think  I  should  like  it;  but  I  do.  (Horn  blows.)  Y’all 
Where  did  I  leave  my  pail  of  water  ? 

Enter  Enos,  r.,  drinking  out  of  the  j  ail 

Tou  great  lubber  ! 

Enos  G’ve  a  feller  a  drink,  won’t  ye  ?  (Drinks'  ' 

S* 


{0  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD.  [AO?  II 

Ph.  Come  !  Enos  Crnmlett ' 

Enos.  Wait  half  a  jiffy,  can’t  ye?  I  was  pert}  nigh  choked  1 

[ Drinks .  Horn  blows.) 

Ph.  {Crying.)  I  shall  have  to  go  back  after  another  pailful  ! 
Enos.  You  don’t  s’pose  I ’m  goin’  to  drink  all  of  it,  do  ye  ? 

Ph.  But  you  ’ve  drinked  out  of  the  pail  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  I  don’t  slobber  !  Here,  take  your  pail  !  Don’t  make 
eich  a  ’tarnal  fuss  about  a  little  grain  o’  water  !  ’T  an’t  over  .an’ 
above  cold,  uuther.  Come,  don’t  cry  !  I ’m  goin’  over  to  your  hous* 
to  see  if  I  can  borry  a  standin’  collar,  to  wear  to  the  party  to-night. 
I  ’ll  carry  the  pail  for  ye,  shall  I  ?  May  as  well  take  toll  !  {Drinks.) 
I ’d  kiss  ye,  if  I  had  a  moustache,  like  that  Greenwich  feller.  {Horn 
blows.) 

Ph.  {Weeping.)  Well!  I ’m  coming. 

Enos.  Wal!  we ’re  cornin’ !  {Drinks.)  {Exeunt,  r.; 


SCENE  V. - d  Room  in  Mr.  Greenwich’s  House ;  c.  doors  used 

interior.  Mr.  G.,  Mrs.  G.,  and  Etty  discovered ,  seated. 

Mr.  Greenwich,  (-c.)  Now,  my  daughter,  I  will  hear  you  recite 
those  varses  with  which  you  are  to  edify  the  company  this  evening. 

Etty.  {Rising  r.)  Yes,  father. 

Mr.  G.  When  you  say  Yes ,  father,  you  should  execute  a  slight 
curtsey.  Try  again. 

Etty.  {Curtseying.)  Yes,  father. 

Mr.  G.  Better,  my  daughter.  {Takes  snuff.) 

Mrs.  Greenwich,  (l.)  Hold  your  hands  so,  Etty. 

Mr.  G.  I  will  dictate,  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  —  What  is  the  subject  of 
your  varses,  my  daughter  ? 

Etty.  My  Brother's  Return. 

Mr.  G.  Give  the  rising  inflection  to  brother,  and  the  falling  inflec¬ 
tion  to  return  ;  thus  :  My  Brother's  — Return. 

Etty.  My  Brother's  Return. 

Mrs.  G.  You  must  hold  up  your  head,  my  child. 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich,  your  assistance  is  not  required  !  Remem 
her  you  are  a  second  wife,  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  which  reminds  me  to  say 
that  I  shall  expect  due  deference  shown  to  my  remarks  in  the  presence 
of  our  company  this  evening  ;  on  which  occasion,  when  that  ’Squire 
Greenwich  speaks,  it  will  be  proper  for  Mrs.  Greenwich  to  keep 
sdence.  My  daughter,  hold  your  head  in  this  manner.  Not  So,  but 
so. 

Enter  Robert,  r. 

Robert.  {Gayly.)  Hello,  sis  !  How  d’ ye  do,  mother?  How  are 
ye,  old  one  ? 

Mr.  G.  {Imposes  silence  on  Mrs.  G.  and  Etty,  who  are  about  to 
speak.)  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  daughter  !  Son  Robert,  you  amaze  me  ! 

Rob.  That ’s  more  than  I  bargained  for.  I  only  meant  a  surprise. 

1  left  my  traps  at  the  tavern,  and  legged  it  across  lots,  at  the  rate  of 

2  :  40  !  {Blows.) 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  daughter  !  silence !  Son  Robert,  you 
astound  me  ! 

Hob.  0,  I  beg  pardon  !  (  Flings  himself  on  a  chair .  B  ) 


*CENE  V.  j  NEIGHBOR  JACSWOOT.- 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  —  If  you  are  indeed  my  son  Robert ! 

Rob.  Well  !  I  ’ve  always  indulged  the  notion  that  my  mother  — 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert,  this  levity  is  unseemly  !  You  appear  entirely 
to  have  forgotten  the  discipline  of  your  early  years. 

Mrs.  G.  0,  well  !  He  has  been  so  long  from  home  — 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  —  What  could  you  be  thinking  of,  son 
Robert,  on  your  return,  to  address  both  your  sister  and  your  step¬ 
mother  before  me?  Was  that  showing  due  respect  to  the  paternal 
head?  Then  you  address  me  as  the  old  one  !  Your  baggage  you 
denominate  traps!  and  you  speak  of  legging  it  across  lots,  with  e 
phrase  borrowed  from  the  turf  ! 

Mrs.  G.  Why,  I  did  n’t  see  anything  out  of  the  way  — 

Mr.  G.  I  am  speaking,  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  ( Takes  snvff.) 

Rob.  Well,  I ’m  sorry  to  have  displeased  you.  But  I  was  so  glad 
to  get  home,  I  quite  forgot  myself.  {Aside.)  I  must  keep  on  the  right 
side  of  the  old  one,  any  way. 

Mr.  G.  Moreover,  son  Robert,  I  have  been  credibly  informed  that 
you  left  Mobile  some  time  before  you  saw  fit  to  advise  me  of  the  fact. 

Rob.  (Aside.)  Here  ;s  a  gd  !  If  the  old  one  should  find  out  — 

Mrs.  G.  I  wouldn’t  bring  that  up  now,  ’Squire  Greenwich  ! 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  do  you  assume  to  dictate  to  the  pater¬ 
nal  head  ? 

Rob.  All  that  is  easily  explained.  The  hot  weather,  the  unhealthy 
season  in  Mobile,  —  then,  again,  business  was  so  dull, —  and,  as  I 
wish  to  make  you  anxious  about  me,  I  thought  I  would  wait  and  bring 
the  news  myself.  (Aside.)  How  natural  it  comes  for  me  to  lie  ! 

Mr.  G.  But  this  long  delay,  son  Robert.  ' 

Rob.  I  had  some  business  to  transact  for  our  firm  in  New  York.  It 
took  me  longer  than  I  anticipated. 

Enter ,  l.,  Mr.  Rukely  and  Bertha  Wing. 

(Aside.)  Thank  heaven  for  the  interruption  ! 

Mrs.  G.  0,  here  is  our  company  ! 

Mr.  G.  (Waving  her  behind  him.)  Mrs.  Greenwich!  —  Mr. 
ftukely,  you  are  welcome  to  my  roof.  I  greet  you,  Miss  Wing  i 
(GYosses,  R.)  , 

Bob.  Old  friends,  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  G.  Daughter,  your  recitation  is  postponed.  (Exit,  r  1 

Mrs.  G.  Make  yourselves  quite  at-  home  here. 

(Exeunt  Mrs.  G.  and  Etty,  R.) 

Rob.  (Conversing  with  Bertha.)  Yes  ;  but  I  have  been  in  town 
Hig  enough  already  to  hear  the  report. 

Mr.  Rukely.  (Coming forward.)  What  is  that  ? 

Rob.  That  Miss  Wing,  here,  is  about  to  become  Mrs.  Rukely. 

Mr.  R.  Report  is  not  so  far  out  of  the* way,  this  time. 

Rob,  I  congratulate  you  both  :  you,  Mr.  Rukely,  on  your  choice 
of  so  gentle  and  worthy  a  creature  as  our  good  Bertha,  here  ;  and  you, 
Bertha,  on  forming  a  matrimonial  connection  with  an  eloquent  minis¬ 
ter  of  the  Gospel.  (Aside.)  How  she  can  stomach  that  old  hypocrite, 
beats  my  philosophy  ! 

Mr.  R.  We  do  not  marry  from  any  frivolous  motive,  but  from  a 
$eep  sense  of  duty. 

Rob.  You  are  right  there.  Marriage  is  a  matter  of  religion. 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[ACT  U 


82 

Bertha.  We  think  so. 

Rob.  Accordingly,  when  I  assume  the  yoke  matrimonial,  it  shall  b* 
with  some  fair  saint,  with  charms  to  render  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
attractive.  It ’s  my  only  chance.  Ah  !  Hector. 

Enter  Hector,  l. 

Hector.  Bertha,  how  do  you  do  !  Mr.  Rukely  ! 

Rob.  ( Extending  his  hand.)  And  me  ! 

Hec.  And  you,  B)b  !  I  suppose  I  must  give  you  my  hand  ;  but  it 
goes  against  my  ins.tinct. 

Rob.  Instinct  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Hec.  Mr.  Rukely,  explain,  if  you  can,  my  relation  to  this  good* 
nature!  Beelzebub  ! 

Rob.  This  is  his  peculiar  style  of  joking.  He  is  marvellously 
funny,  if  you  only  understand  him.  “  Beelzebub  5  5  is  good  ! 

Hec.  We  are  friends  by  habit,  but  by  instinct  I  hate  him. 

Rob. '  More  wit ! 

Mr.  R.  He  seems  to  me  to  be  rather  in  earnest. 

Rob.  You  don’t  know  him  ;  I  do. 

Hec.  No,  you  don’t,  Bob  Greenwich  ,  and  you  never  will,  until  we 
some  day  quarrel  royally,  and  thenceforward  stand  to  each  other  for 
nrecisely  what  we  are. 

Rob.  Quarrel  !  You  and  I  !  0,  Damon  and  Pythias  !  is  it  possi¬ 

ble?  Let  me  tell  you.  (To  Mr.  Rckely.)  I  was  with  him  in  the 
South,  in  days  of  temptation.  I  watched  over  him  with  a  shepherd’s 
care,  and .  brought  him  every  night,  like  a  tender  lamb,  into  the  fold 
of  virtue.  Hector,  my  Trojan!  will  you  come?  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you. 

Hec.  Well,  I  am  not  proud  ;  I  am  willing  to  go  with  sinners. 

Rob.  More  wit  !  His  peculiar  style  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

(Exeunt  Hector  and  Robert,  r.) 

Mr.  R 4  What  makes  you  tremble  so  ? 

Ber.  Do  I  ?  Leave  me  a  little  while  !  I  am  very  foolish  ? 

Mr.  R.  (Crosses,  r.)  Be  calm  and  strong,  Bertha  !  (Exit,  R.) 

Ber.  Calm  and  strong  !  0,  my  rebellious  heart  !  Why  can  I  not 

love  that  man  ? 

Enter  Camille,  l. 

Camille.  (Aside.)  0,  why  did  I  come  here?  He  urged  me  so1 
Then  Phoebe  came  and  urged  me,  and  his  kindness  is  so  winning  — 

Ber.  Charlotte  ! 

Cam.  0,  Bei*tha  Wing  !  You  are  my  friend.  Tell  me  —  this  Rol 
ert  Greenwich,  who  is  he  ? 

Ber.  The  son  of  ’Squire  Greenwich  —  don’t  you  know  ? 

Cam .  Yes  ;  but  where  — »  do  you  know  where  he  has  been  ? 

Ber  At  the  South  ;  I  believe  mostly  in  Mobile. 

Cam.  (Aside.)  Mobile  ! 

Ber.  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Charlotte  ? 

Cam.  Bertha,  if  you  are  my  friend,  save  me  ;  help  me  leave  thif 
house  ! 

Bpr.  What  do  you  fear  ? 

Cam.  I!  is  he  ;  I  cannot  meet  him  ;  I  must  fly  !  I  will  tell  you  all 
Bertha  ! 


60* NE  V.J 


NEIGHBOR  JACA.  VOOD. 


84 

Ber.  How  strange  !  This  way  !  I  will  conceal  you  -  — 

Enter  Robert,  r.,  followed  by  Hector  and  several  guests. 

Cam.  0,  haste  !  Save  me,  Bertha  !  ( Meets  Robert  face  to  face.) 

0, 1  am  lost  ! 

Robert.  Not  a  word  !  Stay  where  you  are,  and  you  are  safe.  — Ber» 
tha,  will  you  please  introduce  me  to  your  friend  ? 

Ber.  Mr.  Greenwich  —  Miss  Woods. 

Rob.  Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Woods.  Allow 
ne  to  introduce  you  to  a  few  of  our  guests. 

Cam.  (Aside.)  Heaven  help  me  ! 

(Takes  his  arm ,  and  they  ivalk.) 

Hec.  The  impudent  scoundrel  ! 

Enter ,  r.,  Mrs.  Greenwich,  Mrs.  Jackwood,  and  Grandmother 
Rigglesty,  looking  curiously  about  the  room. 

Mrs.  Greenwich.  Sit  here,  Mrs.  Rigglesty.  How  do  you  do,  to-day  ? 
Grandmother  Rigglesty.  (r.)  0, 1  an’t  a  bit  well  !  Sich  a  pain  as  I 
have  all  the  hull  of  the  time,  from  my  left  shoulder,  clean  down  the 
small  of  my  back  !  I  can  turn  my  head  so  ( turns  it  over  her  left 
shoulder),  but  I  can’t  turn  it  so  (turns  it  over  her  right  shoulder),  for 
the  life  of  me  ! 

Enter  Mr.  Rukely  and  Mr.  Greenwich,  talking,  r.  Phxebe  and 
Etty,  c.  d.  ;  Abimelecii  pinning  their  dresses  together.  Enos  and 

Matilda,  c.  d. 

Enos.  Wal  !  chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  There ’s  a  tarnal  snarl  of 
people  here,  any  way  !  Say,  ’Squire  Greenwich,  if  you  hear  of  any¬ 
body  ’d  like  to  swap  for  a  nice  four-year-old  mare -  lie ’s  talking  ; 

he  can’t  hear. — See  here,  ’Tildy  !  You  an’t  goin’  to  dance  with 
nobody  but  me,  be  ye  ?  hey  ? 

Matilda,  (r.  c.)  How  jealous  you  be  ! 

Enos.  (l.  c.)  Jealous  !  I  an’t  jealous  the  least  grain  in  the  world  ! 
By  jingoes  !  I  ’ll  ask  Bertha  Wing  to  dance  with  me  ! 

Ph.  (Down  on  l.)  Bim  !  What  you  doing? 

G.  R.  Law,  sus  !  It ’s  that  swindlin’  Crumlett  ! 

Hector.  (Approaching  Robert  and  Camille,  seated,  l.  corner.) 
Miss  Woods,  shall  I  engage  you  for  the  dance? 

Cam.  (Aside.)  0,  how  can  I  escape  ? 

Rob.  Miss  Woods  is  much  obliged  to  you,  I ’ve  no  doubt  ;  but  .  she 
is  engaged. 

Hec.  ( To  Camille.)  Man  is  a  deceiver,  woman’s  heart  is  soft, 
and  flattery  is  the  snare  of  souls.  Trust  not  one  of  us  ! 

Rob.  He  will  spite  himself  by  inviting  Matilda. 

Cam.  (Aside.)  0,  this  torture  ! 

Enos.  (c.  l.,  round  ad  libitum.  )  By  jingoes  !  she  refuses  me ! 
Shall  I  have  the  pleasure ?  (To  Phiebe,  who  continues  talking.)  I  ’ia 
in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  !  Wal,  she’s  engaged,  too  !  I  ’ll  try  another. 
Bound  to  have  a  dance,  any  Way  !  (Goes  around  inviting  ladies  to 
dance,  who  all  refuse.)  0,  you  don’t  say  !  Wal,  by  jingoes  ! 
They  ’re  all  engaged,  I  guess.  Who  else? 

G.  R  'v.)  That  Charlotte  !  I  declare,  if  she  an’t  here  !  I 
thought  it  was  goin’  to  be  a  respectable  kind  o’  party.  See  here,  Mrs. 
Greenwich  !  Do  you  know  anything  about  — 


34  '  NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD.  [ACT  III 

Rob.  (l.)  It  is  your  only  way  ;  you  are  safe.  But,  if  you  attempt 

to  escape  — ■ 

Cam.  0,  have  mercy  on  me  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  don’t  see  but  I  shall  haf  to  invite  Tildy,  arter  all  ! 
’Pear  to  be  all  engaged  ;  or  else  they  don’t  dance.  •  Wal,  Tildy,  shall 
I  have  the  pleasure  — 

Mat.  (r.  o.)  0,  thank  you  !  I ’m  sorry  ;  but  I ’m  engaged.  ( Re¬ 
tires  up  stage.) 

Enos.  Hey?  —  engaged?  Now,  that’s  real  mean,  Tildy!  I 
would  n’t  do  sich  a  thing  !  I  —  I  —  I  ’ll  break  off ! 

G.  R.  Then  there ’s  that  swindlin’  Crumlett  !  I  wonder  who  ’ll 
lance  with  him?  I  wouldn’t,  if  you  was  to  give  me  ail  the  men  in 
creation  !  He ’s  so  disagreeable  ! 

Enos.  Only  one  chance  left,  I  vow  !  But  I ’m  bound  to  have  a 
dance.  {Approaches  Mrs.  Rigglesty.)  Wal,  you  here?  Heow  de 
dew  ?  Glad  to  see  ye  !  I  was  kind  o’  ’fraid  you  would  n’t  come. 

G  R  0  !  how  de  do  !  {Aside.)  So  disagreeable  ! 

Enor  I ’d  like  to  talk  —  old  friends  so  ;  but  I’m  in  suthin’  of  a 
hurry.  Dance,  don’t  ye  ? 

G.  R.  0  !  I ’d  no  idee  !  — 

Enos.  Come,  hitch  on  !  I’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry. 

G.  R.  {R  ises.)  He  ’sreal  kind  o’  perlite,  arter  all  ! 

Enos.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  Bound  to  have  a  dance,  any  way. 
Now  I  guess  Tildy  ’ll  be  jealous  ! 

{Exeunt  Robert  and  Camille,  l.,  conversing.) 
Hec.  I  could  strangle  the  scoundrel  !  {Exit,  l.) 

{Music.  A  dance.  Mrs.  Rigglesty  faints.) 

G.  R.  0,0,0!  {Confusion.  Curtain  falls.) 


ACT  III. 

&CENE  I.  —  A  Room  in  Mr.  Dunbury’s  House,  c.  door  practical. 
Hector  discovered  with  book,  r.  Camille  sewing  by  table,  l  A 
knock  at  the  door 

Hector.  Come  in. 

Enter  Robert,  c.  r 
Camille.  Again  !  0,  torture  ! 

Robert.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  presume  you  are  not  glad  to 
SC-e  me. 

Hec.  If  you  refer  to  me,  I  am  not.  I  never  am. 

Rob.  Thank  you  for  your  frankness  !  I  find  it  quite  refreshing. 
( Leans  upon  Camille’s  chair.)  What  a  consummate  wit  our  friend 
Hector  is  !  {Bending  down.)  Camille  !  I  am  here  again.  I  cannot 
keep  away. 

Cam  Bid  I  not  command  you  to  go  ? 

Rob.  Commtnd  me  {Smil  ugly  rests  his  hand  upon  her  shoul¬ 
der.) 


dCKNK  I.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


35 


Cam  Your  touch  makes  me  shudder  !  Is  not  that  enough? 

Rob.  You  speak  rather  plainly. 

Cam.  I  have  endured  all  I  can.  I  will  no  more  ! 

R  ob.  You  never  appear  so  beautiful  as  when  you  are  angry.  I 
have  a  length  and  breadth  of  love,  deep  in  my  nature,  which  nothing 
can  tire  or  exhaust.  It  has  centred  in  you  !  it  holds  you  !  it  will  not 
let  you  go  ! 

Cam .  It  is  useless  to  remind  me  that  I  am  in  your  power.  (Arises.) 
Do  your  worst ! 

Rob.  I  am  not  your  enemy.  I  have  spent  my  summer  in  pursuit 
of  you,  not  to  do  you  an  injury,  but  to  show  my  love. 

Cam.  Love  !  0,  monstrous  ! 

Rob.  ’St  !  Hector  is  watching  like  a  cat  !  I  have  something  to 
Bay  to  you.  Something  you  would  not  have  me  say  before  him. 

Cam.  0,  the  serpent  !  ( Exeunt ,  l.,  conversing.) 

Hec.  ( Dashes  his  book  upon  the  floor. )  I  ’ll  strangle  the  villain  ! 
( Springs  towards  the  door.)  But  she  loves  him!  0,  fool  !  fool! 
fool  !  (Returns,  and  flings  himself  upon  a  lounge.) 

Enter  Camille,  l. 

e 

Cam.  I  have  shaken  the  serpent  off  !  I  have  put  my  foot  upon 
him  !  0,  heaven  help  me  now  !  Hector  !  (Looks  with  dismay  at 

Hector,  then  at  the  book  upon  the  floor.)  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ?  (Stoops  to  take  up  the  book.) 

Hec.  (Leaps  to  his  feet.)  Leave  it!  (Seizes  her  wrist ,  and 
glares  upon  her.)  Are  you  an  angel,  or  a  fiend  1 

Cam.  I  am  a  woman. 

Hec.  That  name  accounts  for  every  inconsistency  !  A  woman  ! 
Go  !  (Flings  her  from  him.  She  turns  in  silence,  and  sinks  down 
by  a  chair,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands.  He  paces  the  room.)  0, 
what  a  brute  am  I  !  (Approaches,  and  takes  her  hand.)  Charlotte  ! 
Charlotte!  (She  falls  at  his  feet.)  What  have  I  done?  Dearest 
Charlotte,  speak  to  me  !  (Lifts  her  up.) 

Cam.  0,  why  have  I  left  you  deceived  !  — 

Hec.  0,  Charlotte  !  if  a  desperate  and  all-conti’olling  love  could 
merit  anything,  I  merited  your  trust  !  Be  still ;  for,  now  my  tongue 
is  loosed,  and  you  must  hear  me  !  In  spite  of  reason  and  will,  I  am 
drawn  irrevocably  to  you.  The  light  of  the  universe  shines  upon  me 
through  your  eyes. 

Cam.  Let  me  go  !  I  will  fly  from  you  !  You  shall  never  see  my 
face  again  ! 

Hec.  Fly!  —  with  whom?  With  Robert? 

Cam -  0  ! 

Hec.  You  know  my  feeling  towards  that  man. 

Cam.  Spare  me  !  Spare  me  ! 

Hec.  I  am  not  blind.  Would  that  I  were  !  I  have  marked  your 
blushes,  your  pallor,  your  faltering  speech,  when  he  has  come  sud¬ 
denly  upon  you,  or  given  you  meanir.g  looks,  or  whispered  in  your 
ear.  Can  you  wonder  at  the  fury  stirred  in  my  blood  ?  To-day  the 
tiger  was  roused,  and  .would  have  sprung  at  his  throat  ! 

Cam.  I  am  to  blame  !  I  am  to  blame  ! 

Hec.  0,  woman  !  woman  !  I  loved  you,  and  tried  to  hate  you 
£  believed  you  worthy,  and  I  believed  you  not  worthy.  To  my  mind 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


fACT  III. 


JS6 

you  appeared  false  and  erring  ;  but  ever  in  my  heart  you  were  fair, 
white-robed,  pure,  angelic.  Charlotte,  did  I  deserve  your  trust? 

Cam.  You  did  !  You  did  !  I  will  tell  you  everything  to-day.  I 
know  you  will  cast  me  from  you.  But  it  will  be  better  so. 

Hec.  Charlotte,  read  that  ! 

Cam.  (Reads.)  What  is  this? 

Hec.  0,  she  is  innocent !  That  is  not  your  history? 

Cam  My  history? 

Hec.  0,  I  have  been  made  the  sport  even  of  a  silly  old  woman  ! 
Cam,  My  history  —  it  is  darker  —  a  hundred  times  darker  than 
this  !  0,  do  not  question  me  !  Let  me  go,  as  I  am  !  I  cannot,  can¬ 
not  tell  you  !  ( Crosses ,  and  exits,  it.) 

Hec.  Charlotte  !  Stay  !  0,  whirlwinds  seize  me !  I  will  solve 

this  mystery  !  (Exit,  R.) 

Enter  Robert,  l. 

Robert.  This  is  their  game !  Then,  by  all  the  furies,  I  will  be 
revenged  !  The  mine  is  sunk,  the  train  is  laid,  and  a  touch  — I’ll 
blow  them  to  the  devil  ! 

Enter  Enos,  c.  d.,  whittling.  * 

Crumlett ! 

Enos,  (r.)  Wal,  —  how  de  dew  !  Did  n’t  expect  to  see  yeu  1 
Rob.  I ’ve  a  job  for  you. 

Enos.  Sho  !  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  ! 

Rob.  (  Writing  on  a  book.)  You  will  go  to  the  tavern  — 

Enos.  Wal,  —  I  s’pose  I  can,  —  though  I  happen  jest  now  to  be  is 
euthin’  of  a  hurry  — 

Rob.  You  shall  be  paid.  Take  this  to  the  landlord.  (Folds  ana 

addresses  the  note.) 

Enos.  (Aside.)  I  was  jest  thinkin’  o’  going  to  the  tavern,  now  — 
Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  It  ’ll  be  a  good  deal  out  o’  my  way  ;  ’sides 
I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  — 

Rob.  It  is  to  be  called  for.  (  Gives  the  note.  Going. ) 

Enos.  “X.  Y.  Z.”  0  !  I  see  !  the  letter  is  for  X.  Y.  Z.,  hey! 

See  here  ! 

Rob.  Well  ! 

Enos.  Is  this  all  ? 

Rob.  Yes.  Leave  it  with  the  landlord.  Despatch  ! 

Enos.  0,  yes  ;  but  what  am  I  to  run  my  legs  oft' for,  that ’s  what 
I ’d  kind  o’  like  to  know?  (Robert gives  him  money.)  Thank  ye  ’ 
See  here  ! 

Rob.  What  now  ? 

Enos.  lre  don’t  happen  to  have  a  plug  o’  tobacker  in  yer  trousers? 
(En  it  Robert,  c.  d.)  Wal !  curis  what  makes  some  folks  allers  in 
sink  a  desprit  hurry  !  “  X.  Y.  Z.”  He  did  n’t  stick  it  with  nothin’, 

so  there  won’t  be  no  harm  openin’  on  ’ t,  as  I  see.  What  can  he  mean 
by  “  X.  Y  Z.,”  now?  I ’d  jest  like  to  know  !  I  declare,  he  has  put 
a  wafer  on ’t  —  he  must  a’ had  one  in  his  pocket!  Here’s  a  fix! 
How  am  I  to  know  what  *'  X  Y  Z  ”  means?  .  Wal,  I  don’t  see  no 
more  harm  openin’  a  letter  that ’s  stuck,  than  one  that  an’t  stuck,  if 
it  can  be  did  !  By  jingoes  !  there  ’tis  !  I  swanny,  I  didn’t  mean 
feo  !  I ’d  no  idee  !  Seein’  it ’s  open,  though,  I  may  as  well  take  a  peep 


SCEJKfi  I.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKW001/. 


8? 


{Reads.)  All  right.  Wal,  I  ’m  glad  it ’s  all  right.  I  ’a  a- ft  a  red  it 
might  be  wrong.  What  else?  There  ’$  something  in  the  wind.  What’s 
in  the  wind  —  I ’d  like  to  know  !  Will  see  you  at  noon.  I  dare  not 
meet  you  openly  :  so  find  me  at  the  same  place ,  in  the  woods.  The 
utmost  secrecy  is  necessary.  Sho  !  You  don’t  say  ! 

Enter  Hector,  r.,  looking  haggard  and  excited . 

Hector.  Enos  ! 

Enos.  By  jingoes  !  ( Thrusts  the  letter  into  his  pocket.)  I  come 
perty  near  gittin’  ketched  at  it  ! 

Hec.  I  have  something  for  you  to  do. 

Enos.  I ’m  in  a  tearin’  hurry  !  I  got  to  go  to  the  tavern. 

Hec.  That ’s  just  where  I  want  to  go. 

Enos.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  tell  him,  now  !  That  is,  I ’m  goin’  to 
the  tavern  in  a  day  or  two,  to  see  about,  you  know  — 

Hec.  I  must  catch  the  stage.  Say  nothing  to  any  one  — 

Enos.  You  an’t  goin’  to  leave  town,  be  ye? 

Hec.  Put  my  horse  before  the  buggy,  and  bring  him  to  the  door. 

Enos.  See  here  !  Wal,  this  is  unexpected,  now  !  Bo  you  mean 
-aright  away  ? 

Hec.  I  mean  at  once.  ( Exit,  R. ) 

Enos.  Wal,  —  chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  Kill  tew  birds  with  one 
stun,  and  get  a  ride  to  the  tavern  into  the  barg’in. 

Enter  Phcebe,  c.  d.,  and  down  l. 

Phabe.  0  !  Enos  ! 

Enos.  Can’t  stop  !  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

Ph.  Have  you  seen  Robert  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  yes,  —  that  is,  I  expect  to  see  him.  Anything  I  can 
do  ? 

Ph.  If  you  see  him,  Enos,  tell  him  I  am  going  distracted  ! 

Enos.  Sho  !  You  don’t  say. 

Ph.  How  is  Matilda,  Enos  ? 

Enos.  ’Tildy ’s  nicely.  She ’s  gone  to  live  with  Bertha,  you  know 
—  I  mean  Mrs.  Rukely.  I  was  kind  o’  surprised  Bertha  should  marry 
the  minister,  arter  all  —  wan’t  you?  But  there’s  no ’countin’ for 
tastes. 

Ph.  I  would,  if  I ’d  been  in  her  place  !  Anything  is  better  than 
this  suspense. 

Enos.  Wal,  if  I  run  acrost  Bob,  I  ’ll  tell  him  you  ’re  goin’  dis¬ 
tracted.  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  !  {Exit,  c.) 

Ph.  I  don’t  care  !  it ’s  real  mean  in  Bob  Greenwich  .  I  shall  cry 
my  eyes  out ! 

Enter  Camille,  r. 

Camille.  Gone  !  Gone  !  Nothing  is  left  me  now  !  0,  he  did  not 

,ove  me- —  else  he  would  not  despise  me  now  i 

Ph.  Why,  Charlotte  ! 

Cam.  Phoebe  ! 

Ph.  What ’s  the  matter,  Charlotte?  I  n(  ver  see  you  look  so  t 

Cam.  I  —  lam  not  well.  Give  me  your  arm,  dear  Phoebe  !  I  am 
dizzy  —  blind  ! 

Ph.  0  dear  1  0  dear  ! 

4 


88  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOP.  [ACT  113. 

Cam .  Don’t  be  alarmed.  There  —  I  am  better  now.  0,  good 
Phoebe  !  You  are  the  only  friend  I  have  !  ( Embraces  her.) 

Ph.  ( Sobbing. )  W  —  w  —  -  what  can  I  do  ? 

Cam.  Dry  your  tears,  and  listen  to  me. 

Ph.  I  —  1  —  I  can’t !  I’ve  been  broken-hearted  myself,  Robert 
Greenwich  has  used  me  real  mean  ' 

Cam.  Door  Phoebe  ! 

Ph.  He  said  he  would  see  me  here  this  morning.  0  !  Who 
there?  ( Runs  to  the  window.)  It ’s  him  : 

Cam.  Robert ! 

Ph.  My  heart  almost  hopped  out  of  my  mouth  !  Say  !  how  does 
my  hair  look?  Would  you  care,  if  he  thought  I  was  handsomer  than 
you ?  I’m  all  of  a  flutter  !  His  moustache  is  perfectly  splendid,  any 
way  ! 

Enter  Robert,  c.  d. 

Robert.  Ah  !  two  birds  together  !  —  a  dove  and  a  blue-jay  ! 

Cam.  And  a  snake  creeping  in  ! 

Rob.  Phoebe,  I  wTant  you  to  try  your  wings.  I  left  a  pair  of  gloves 
at  your  house;  do,  please,  fly  home  and  get  them. 

Ph.  I  have  n’t  seen  any. 

Rob.  Of  course  you  have  n’t.  They  ’re  under  the  clock 

Ph.  Will  you  wait  for  me  here? 

Rob.  If  you  don’t  find  them  under  the  clock,  look  under  the  bureau. 
If  they  are  not  there,  hunt  for  ’em  in  the  barn.  ( Exit  Phcebe,  c.  p.) 
The  goose  !  See  her  run  !  I  have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  The  simple¬ 
ton  will  be  back  presently,  unless  she  falls  and  breaks  her  neck,  as  I 
devoutly  pray  she  may  ! 

Cam.  Sir,  if  you  have  come  again  to  torture  me,  you  lose  your 
labor.  I  no  longer  fear  nor  dread  you. 

Rob.  By  heavens  !  you  are  a  noble  girl !  When  I  saw  Hector  go, 
my  hope  returned.  You  have  lost  him.  Camille  !  once  more  I  ofler 
you  my  love — my  life  ! 

Cam.  Go  !  ( Points  to  the  door.) 

Rob.  Never  !  If  his  love  had  been  strong  as  mine,  he  could  not 
have  left  you.  At  any  sacrifice,  you  must  be  mine!  Camille,  you 
shall  be  my  wife  ! 

Cam.  Your  wife  !  Robert  Greenwich,  my  entire  nature  shrinks  at 
the  thought  of  joining  myself  to  one  I  do  not  love.  By  no  law,  human 
or  divine,  can  I  ever,  ever  be  yours  !  (Going.) 

Rob.  Stop  1  by  heavens  ! 

Cam.  Take  off  your  hand  ! 

Rob.  Consider  —  I  have  it  in  my  power,  I  have  had  it  in  my  heart, 
to  deliver  you  up  to  a  fate  worse  than  death.  I  relent.  I  offer  you 
my  hand.  Heaven  judge  between  you  and  me,  if  you  sj  am  me  now  1 

Cam  I  spurn  you,  now  and  forever  !  (Exit,  b.) 

Enter  Phoebe,  c.  d. 

Rob.  Death  and  destruction  ! 

Phcebe  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  Charlotte? 

Rob.  We  have  had  a  terrible  quarrel. 

Ph.  About  what? 

Rob.  About  you,  darling.  She  is  jealous. 


•tCKNE  II.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 


89 


Ph.  Jealous  ? 

Rob.  Horribly  jealous  !  Of  you,  Phoebe.  You  must  watoh  her. 

Ph.  Watch  her  ? 

Rob.  Yes  ;  follow  her  everywhere.  Do  not  leave  her  a  moment  out 
of  your  sight.  I  cannot  explain  now' — but  our  happiness  depends 
upon  it.  (Kisses  her,  and  aside.)  Now,  then,  for  vengeance  ! 

(Exit,  c.) 

Ph.  I  never  saw  anything  so  strange  in  all  my  life  !  Robert  !  A 
forgot  to  tell  him  there  wan’t  any  gloves  1  He ’s  got  a  splendid 
moustache,  any  way  (Exit,  c.,  and  ojf  n.) 


SCENE  II. - i  Chamber.  E  'er  C.amille,  l.  Piicebe  follows  softly , 

watching  and  listening. 

Camille.  0,  my  soul  is  sick  !  I  did  not'think  it  would  cost  me  so 
much  to  lose  him.  He  was  my  only  hope  —  now  he  is  gone  !  I  will 
banish  him  from  my  mind  !  Whom  can  I  trust,  to  aid  me  to  escape? 
Phoebe  —  she  is  changed  ;  she  is  playing  a  part  ;  she  follows  and 
watches  me  !  0  !  I  have  one  friend  still !  Mr.  Jack  wood  ! - Phoebe  ' 

Phoebe.  I  —  I  am  looking  for  a  pencil  I  dropped. 

Cam.  Phoebe,  why  do  you  deceive  me  ? 

Ph.  True  as  I  live  —  it  was  a  black  pencil  — 

Cam.  Dear  child,  listen  !  Robert  has  set  you  to  play  the  spy  over 
me.  I  forgive  you,  because  you  are  a  foolish  girl.  You  were  once 
good  to  me,  and  so  I  shall  remember  you  kindly  when  I  am  gone. 

Ph.  Why,  you  an’t  a-going  ? 

Cam.  Yes,  Phoebe.  I  shall  never  see  you  again  ! 

Ph.  0,  you  shan’t  go  !  I  didn’t  mean  to -get  Robert  away  from 
you,  and  make  you  jealous  ! 

Cam.  Hush,  foolish  child  ! 

Ph.  I  never  knew  anybody  half  so  good  as  you  be  !  And  I  won’t 
ever  see  you  again  ! 

Cam.  There,  don’t  cry  about  it,  Phoebe.  I  am  going  to  bid  your 
father  and  mother  good-by.  Come,  dear  Phoebe  !  (Exeunt,  n.) 


SCENE  III.  —  Mr.  Jackwood’s  Kitchen.  Mr.  Jackwood  tipped  back 
hi  his  chair,  r.,  smoking.  Mrs.  Rigglesty,  l.,  knitting.  Abime- 
leoii,  c.,  putting  a  wagon  together.  Mrs.  Jackwood  kneading 
b^ead. 

Grandmother  Rigglesty.  How  I  do  hate  to  see  men  settin’  round 
the  house  all  the  arternoon  !  It ’s  so  shif’less  !• — Sonny  ! 

Abimelech.  (Furiously .)  What  ! 

G.  R.  What  !  You  han’t  had  me  to  larn  ye  mannei’s,  or  ys 
would  n’t  speak  so  !  What !  Come  here,  an’  you  ’ll  see  what  ! 

Mr.  Jackwood.  Go  to  your  gran’mother,  Bim’lech 
Abim.  It ’s  always  the  way  — jest  as  I  git  to  work  on  my  wagon  — 
blast  it  all  !  (Kicks  it.) 

G.  R.  Come,  sonny  ;  don’t  ye  want  to  hold  this  yarn  for  me  fea 
rcind  ?  That ’s  a  good  boy  ! 

Abim.  I  knoweci  there ’d  be  suthin’  for  me  to  do  ! 


10  NEIGHBOH  JACK  WOOD.  [ACT  lit 

G.  B.  Wal,  y;u  be  an  abased  child,  I  must  sav  for ’t  !  Yoa 
wan’t  born  to  work,  was  ye? 

Abim.  No,  by  darn,  I  wan’t  !  and  I  an’t  goin  to  work  every  min¬ 
ute  of  the  time,  if  I  haf  to  run  away  ! 

Air.  J.  Bim’lech  !  Be  a  good  boy,  now,  or  1  shall  take  ye  in  hand. 

Abim.  Wind  fast,  any  way  ! 

G.  R.  You  need  n’t  be  so  uppish  about  it!  ’T  won’t  hurt  ye  to 
hold  yarn  a  little  while. 

Abim.  Father  takes  a  noonin’,  and  why  can’t  I  ? 

G.  R.  A  noonin’  !  an’  it ’s  now  a’most  night  !  Han’t  yer  father 
nothin’  in  the  world  for  ye  to  do  ? 

Abim .  I  should  think  so  !  There  an’t  a  boy  nowheres  round  here 
has  to  tug  it  so  hard  as  I  do  !  I’m  gittin’  round-shouldered  a’ready. 

G.  R.  What  ’ll  you  be  when  you  ’ve  done  as  much  work  as  I  have? 
There,  you ’ve  held  the  yarn,  and ’t  han’t  quite  killed  ye,  arter  all  the 
fuss.  Don’t  go  to  putterin’  with  that  wagin,  now  !  How  I  do  detest 
shif’Jessness  !  Go  ’n’  split  some  wood. 

Abim.  The  axe  is  out  in  the  lot,  an’  I  an’t  goin’  to  split  wood,  for 
nobody  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  ! 

Abim.  What  ! 

Mr.  J.  You  go  down  in  the  meader,  and  fix  the  boards  on  that 
stack.  It ’s  goin’  to  rain.  Do  you  hear  ? 

Abim.  It ’s  jest  the  way  !  Con -demn  it  all  !  ( Kicks  the  wagon  to 

pieces.)  There,  I’ve  broke  it!  and  I ’m  glad  on ’t.  I  can’t  have  a 
minute  to  myself  !  ( Exit ,  d.  it.) 

G.  R.  That ’s  the  ugliest  young  one  ever  I  see  ! 

Mr.  J.  I  don’t  much  wonder.  You  pester  his  life  out  of  him. 
Why  could  n’t  ye  let  him  take  comfort  fixin’  his  wagon?  I  don’t 
believe  in  drivin’  a  boy  all  the  time. 

G.  R.  No  ;  you  believe  in  bringin’  ’em  up  to  be  shif’less,  like  their 
father  !  0,  wal  !  I  han’t  a  right  to  say  anything,  I  s’pose.  I ’m  aD 

ol’  woman —  I ’ve  slaved  my  life  out,  doin’  for  my  childern,  an’  that ’s 
all  I  ’m  good  for  !  ( Handkerchief .) 

Mr.  J.  There  comes  the  Good  Samaritan !  Don’t,  now,  go  to 
makin’  yourself  unhappy  ! 

Enter  Camille  and  PHoeBE,  d.  in  flat. 

See,  here ’s  our  Charlotte  ! 

Jamille.  Good  Mr.  Jackwood  ! 

Mr.  J.  Speak  to  her  ;  it  ’ll  please  her. 

Cam.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Rigglesty? 

G.  R.  0,  ’t  an’t  much  consequence  about  me  ;  only  keep  that  door 
shot  !  I  can’t  have  the  wind  blowin’  right  on  to  my  shoulder  an* 
neck.  ( Handkerchief .) 

Airs.  Jackwood.  (n.  c.,  to  Ph<ebe,  glancing  at  Camille.)  Why, 
htf  v  you  talk  ! 

Cam.  0,  Mr.  Jackwood  !  I  have  come  to  you  for  help  ! 

Air.  J.  You  couldn’t  done  better,  if  there ’s  anything  in  BimTech 
Jackwood’s  way 

Enter  Enos,  d.  f. 

G,  R.  The  hussy  !  She  must  have  attention  paid  her  !  Now 
thsre ’s  that  swindlin’  Crumlett  !  (  Exit ,  weeping ,  a.) 


I 


KJENE  III.]  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD.  41 

Enos.  Wal,  Neigh  bor  Jackwood  ! 

Mr.  J.  Good-artenioon,  Enos.  Set  down. 

Enos.  Wal,  —  do’no’, —  I’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry.  Thought 
you ’d  like  to  hear  the  news,  so  I  dropped  in 

Mr.  J.  Set  a  cheer,  Phoebe. 

Enos.  Thank  ye  ;  I’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  That  ’ere  E;  b  Green¬ 
wich  is  a  case,  now,  an’t  he? 

Pli.  Robert  ! 

Enos.  He ’s  in  for  a  spec’lation  —  with  his  X.  Y.  Z.  ! 

Mr.  J.  His  X.  Y.  Z.  ?  —  what ’s  that  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  ye  see,  he  gives  me  a  letter,  without  no  name  to  it,  on’y 
X.  Y  Z.,  to  be  left  with  the  tavern-keeper.  Thinks  says  I  to  myself, 
now,  what ’s  that?  X.  Y.  Z.,  thinks  says  I.  Of  course,  bein’  I  an’t 
nobody’s  fool,  I  was  nat’rally  ruther  anxious  to  know  what  it  was  ah 
about.  So,  thinks  says  I,  I  ’ll  jest  hang  round  the  tavern,  and  mebby 
thinks  says  I,  there  ’ll  be  a  chance  for  a  spec’lation. 

Mr.  J.  Cut  your  story  short,  Enos. 

Enos.  Wal,  of  course  ;  I  ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry,  myself.  You 
see,  I  kind  o’  hung  round,  tryin’  to  git  up  a  dicker  with  somebody, 
till  bime-by  there  comes  up  a  chap  that  took  the  allfiredest  swig  o’ 
whiskey ’t  ever  I  see  poured  into  a  feller’s  insides.  Then  he  whispers 
suthin’  to  the  landlord,  and  I  heerd  the  landlord  say,  “  0,  sartin  !  ” 
same  time  he  give  him  a  letter.  Hello  !  thinks  says  I,  there ’s  my 
X.  Y.  Z.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  Nobody  ’peared  to  know  him,  so 
I  steps  up,  and  says  I,  “  You  seem  to  be  a  stranger  in  these  parts,” 
says  I.  He  did  n’t  take  no  notice,  so  says  I,  “  You  don’t  know  of  any¬ 
body  ’t  wants  to  swap  for  a  nice  four-year-ol’  mare,  do  ye?  ”  says  I. 
“  If  you  ’re  travellin’  in  your  own  conveyance,”  says  I,  “  I ’ve  got  jest 
the  kind  o’  beast,  now,  you  want.” 

Mr.  J.  Wal,  wal,  Enos  ! 

Cam.  {Alarmed.)  0,  Mr.  Jackwood  !  ( Detains  him.) 

Enos.  Why,  if  you  don’t  want  to  hear  it  —  of  course.  I ’m  in  a 
despiit  hurry,  myself. 

Mr.  J.  Go  on. 

Enos.  The  nub  on ’t ’s  jest  this.  I  could  n’t  git  nothin’  out  o’  Mr. 
X.  Y.  Z.,  and  I  see  he  kind  o’  itched  to  git  me  out  o’  the  way.  So, 
gays  I,  “  If  ye  an’t  up  to  a  dicker,”  says  I,  “  I  shall  haf  to  leave  ye. 
I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry,”  says  I.  Wal,  sir,  next  minute  he  was 
makin’  tracks  down  the  road,  and  I  arter  him. 

Mr  J.  Ye  did  n’t  foller  him,  did  ye  ? 

Enos.  What ’s  the  odds,  long  as  he  did  n’t  see  me?  Wal,  he  kind 
o’  l’itered  round,  lookin’  to  see  if  anybody  see  him,  till  bime-by  he 
starts  and  makes  a  bee-line  acrost  Jones’s  pastur’.  I  took  a  short  cut 
through  the'holler,  and  headed  him  olf,  jest  as  he  was  cornin’  into  the 
woods. 

Mr.  J.  Come,  come,  Enos  !  Charlotte ’s  all  in  a  fidget  —  you  ’re  so 
slow  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  sir*  I  got  behind  the  wall,  and  there  who  should  I  see 
come  tearin’  through  the  saplin’s,  but  your  mustashy  feller,  there,  Rob 
Greenwich 

Ph.  Robert ! 

Enos.  I  rec’lected  what  ye  told  me,  Pheeb,  ’bout  your  goin’  dis 
tracted  ;  buf  I  kind  o’  thought  I  would  n’t  mention  it  then.  ’Peared 

4* 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[act  six 


to  me,  my  better  way ’d  be,  to  keep  my  ears  open,  an’  my  mouth  ehet 
Could  n’t  hear  much,  though  ;  but  I  gethered  ’no ugh  to  see  what  kind 
of  a  spec’lation  they  ’re  up  tew.  That  ’ere  X.  Y.  Z.  chap  is  some  kind 
of  an  officer,  an’  Bob  Greenwich  is  puttin’  him  on  the  track  of  some¬ 
body.  I  thought,  from  what  was  said,  ’t  was - Hello  !  what ’s  come 

over  her  ? 

Mr.  J.  Never  mind  his  nonsense,  Charlotte.  —  Don’t  ye  see,  ye  ’re 
fright’nin’  her  ?  {Knocking.)  See  who ’s  to  the  door,  Phoebe. 

Cam.  0,  Mr.  Jack  wood  ! 

Enter  Dickson,  d.  f.,  with  a  horse-whip. 

Enos.  (l.  c.)  By  jingoes  !  if  there  an’t  the  X  Y.  Z.  chap  ! 

Dickson.  This  way,  marshal  !  All  right  ! 

Enter  Oliver  Dole,  d.  f. 

Mr.  J.  What  on  ’arth  ! 

Cam.  Save  me  !  save  me  ! 

Dick.  Don’t  let  that  gal  escape  ! 

Mr.  J.  Who  be  you,  bustin’  into  a  house  this  way  ?  Stan’  back  ! 

Dick,  (r.)  Come  on,  marshal !  That ’s  the  gal  ! 

Oliver  Dole.  Mr.  Jackwood,  you  are  resisting  the  execution  of  the 
law. 

Mr.  J.  {Flings  his  arm  about  Camille,  l.)  If  there ’s  any  harm 
cornin’  to  this  gal,  it  must  come  to  me  fust !  My  name ’s  Bim’lech 
Jackwood  ! 

O.  D.  You  know  me,  Mr.  Jackwood  !  {Crosses  to  him.) 

Mr.  J.  I  thought  I  knowed  ye  ;  and  I  thought  you  wan’t  the  man 
to  be  huntin’  a  poor,  friendless  gal,  Oliver  Dole  ! 

Dick.  Cuss  his  nonsense  ! 

O.  D.  {Showing  his  warrant.)  Here  is  my  authority.  I  arrest 
that  girl  — 

Mr.  J.  Stand  off,  there,  both  on  ye  !  Tech  your  hand  to  her,  if 
you  dare  !  Now,  Oliver  Dole,  I  ’ll  hear  what  ye  got  to  say. 

O.  D.  That  girl  is  — 

Mr.  J.  Is  what  ? 

O.  D.  A  fugitive  ! 

Dick.  A  slave  ! 

Mrs.  J.  and  Ph.  A  slave  !  {Cross  behind  to  l.  h.) 

Mr.  J.  A  slave  !  Charlotte  ! 

Dick.  Do  you  understand  that  ?  A  slave  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  by  jingoes  !  here ’s  a  perty  how-de-du  . 

Mr.  J.  {Holding  off  Dickson  and  Dole.)  Wait  a  bit  !  Put  up 
that  pistol  !  {To  Dickson.)  Don’t  think  I ’m  goin’  to  be  scart.  — 
Enos  ! 

Enos.  {Pretending  to  go.)  Did  you  speak?  I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a 
hurry. 

O.  D.  I  did  not  look  for  this  resistance.  The  law  must  be 
obeyed. 

Mr.  J.  There ’s  one  law  above  all  laws,  and  that  law  I  obey  ! 

O.  D.  Dickson,  call  in  our  force  ! 

Mr.  J.  Ha!  that’s  your  game!  {Rushes  with  Camille  to  thi 
door.  As  Dole  alto  pts  to  detain  him ,  knocks  him  down.) 

Dick.  {At  the  w  low ,  beckoning.)  Hurra,  boys! 


SCENE  IV. _ 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 


48 

Enos.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  (  Tips  Dicksi  in  out  of  fits  win *■ 

dow. ) 

Mr.  J.  Stan’  by,  Enos  !  Break  their  heads  !  We  ’ll  save  her  ! 
Old  Vermont  forever  !  ( Hurries  Camille,  with  Piicebe  and  Mbs.  J., 

rut  at  one  door ,  while  Dickson  and  his  posse  rush  in  at  the  other.) 

Enos.  I  ’ve  fixed  yer  X.  Y.  Z.  !  ( Steps  in  Dole’s  way ,  as  he  is 

‘ushing  after  Mr.  J.)  Hello  !  that  you  ? 

Dick.  Whar ’s  that  gal? 

O.  D.  This  way  ! 

Enos.  Arter  me  is  manners  !  I  am  in  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

( Exit ,  after  Mr.  J.  ;  shuts  the  door  behind  him.) 

O  D.  Force  the  door  ! 

Dick.  Bust  it  open  !  smash  through  ! 

( Cries ,  confusion  ;  some  force  the  door ;  others  leap  from  the  win¬ 
dow.  Scene  closes.) 

SCENE  IV.  —  The  Lane.  Shouts  heard. 

Enter  Mr  Jackwood,  r.  Conducts  a  figure,  covered  in  a  large 
■  mantle.  Brandishes  a  sickle. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  There,  there  !  be  still,  now  !  —  Come  on  !  I  defy 
ye  !  ( Shouts  without. ) 

Enos.  ( Entering,  r.)  Come  on  !  we  defy  ye  !  ( Spits  on  his  hands , 
and  rolls  up  his  sleeves.) 

Mr.  J.  Ye  pack  o’ bloody  wolves!  —  Keep  still!  you  shan’t  be 
hurt !  ( Shouts  without.) 

Enos.  Ye  pack  o’  bloody  wolves  ! 

Mr.  J.  Ye  human  thieves  ! 

Enos.  Ye  human  thieves  !  Come  on  ! 

Mr.  J.  Keep  ’em  off  as  long  as  you  can,  Enos  !  —  There,  there  ' 
they  shan’t  hurt  ye  ! 

Enter  Dickson,  Dole,  and  posse,  r. 

Dickson.  Hurra  !  we ’ve  got  her  1 

Oliver  Dole.  Surround  ’em  ! 

Dick.  Shoot  ’em  ! 

O.  D.  Don’t  fire  !  She ’s  safe  ! 

Mi r.  J.  Hands  off  ! 

Enos.  Jeruslia  mighty  !  Don’t  like  the  looks  o’  them  revolvin’ 
irons  !  ( Retreats  behind.  Mr.  J.) 

Mr.  J.  Shoot,  if  ye  want  to  !  Guess  ye  ’ll  find  what  the  Green 
Mountain  boys  are  made  of ! 

Enos.  Guess  ye  ’ll  find  what  the  Green  Mountain  boys  -  Hign  ! 
look  out  there  !  don’t  !  I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  !  (Exit,  l  ) 

D!c/c  Stop  their  gab  ! 

O.  D.  Surrender  !  it  ’ll  save  bloodshed  !  Stand  back  ! 

(  To  his  posse. ) 

Mr.  J.  Oliver  Dole,  you  live  amongst  us,  here  ;  you  oughter  know 
somethin’.  This  t’ other  chap ’pears  to  be  a  stranger,  and  1  e  don’t. 

Dick.  Cuss  his  jaw  ! 

Mr.  J.  Carry  your  impudence  too  fur,  and  ye  ’ll  find  the  Yanke* 
farmer  has  got  pluck  into  him  ! 

Dirk.  You  ’ll  git  ytr  pay  for  this  ! 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[act  in. 


44 

Mr.  J.  I  don't  believe  any  man  ever  yet  done  a  good  action  or  a  bad 
action,  that  he  didn’t  get  his  pay.  So  you  look  out,  or  I  ’ll  send  in 
my  bill  !  ( Brandishes  his  sickle.) 

Dick.  By  Jove,  marshal,  I  can’t  stan’  this  fool’n’  ! 

O.  D.  The  girl  is  secure  ;  there ’s  no  use  of  violence.  —  Mr.  Jack 
wood,  it  is  a  painful  duty  I  have  to  perform  ;  but  you  know — the 
law  !  .  i 

Mr.  J.  The  law  I ’ve  been  larnt  to  reverence  tells  me  to  lift  up  the 
poor  and  down-trodden,  and  stan’  by  the  widder  an’  the  fatherless. 

O.  D.  You  will  have  to  yield. 

Mr.  J.  Crumlett  has  left  me,  has  he  ?  And  how  many  are  ye 
aginst  one  ?  Had  to  drum  the  tavern  loafers  into  yer  sarvice,  did  n’t 
ye,  Oliver  !  A  perty  set,  to  be  huntin’  a  poor,  defenceless  gal  ! 

Dick.  Grab  holt  here  ! 

Mr.  J.  Don’t  be  so  f’erce  !  You  an’t  goin’  to  take  this  poor  gal 
away  from  me  now,  I  know  !  Ye  an’t  so  cruel  as  that  ! 

O.  D.  Advance  —  in  order  ! 

Mr.  J.  She  is  human,  like  one  o’  yer  own  wives  or  childern.  I 
love  her  like  my  own  darter.  Only  look  upon  her  face  ! 

O.  D.  Seize  them  ! 

{As  the  men  rush  forward ,  Mr.  J.  lifts  the  mantle ,  and  discovers 
Piicebe.) 

Dick.  The  devil  ! 

O.  D.  Phoebe  ! 

All.  Phoebe  Jackwood  ! 

Dick.  Cuss  these  Yankee  farmers  !  Scatter,  in  every  direction  ’ 
Start  !  run  !  What  a  pack  of  cussed  fools  ! 

{Exeunt,  r.,  all  but  Mr.  J.  and  Piicebe.) 

Mr.  J.  The  scoundrels  !  They  ’ll  larn  what  Yankee  farmers  are 
made  of  !  Hurra  for  old  Vermont  !  ( Exeunt ,  l., 

SCENE  V.  —  The  Intervale.  A  haystack ,  c.,  near  the  creek.  A 

sheep-shed  built  against  it.  Wait  across  front.  Abimelech  ar- 

ranging  boards  on  the  stack.  A  storm. 

Abimelech.  There,  I  guess  that  ’ll  keep  the  rain  off.  Darn  the  ole 
stack,  I  say  !  I  shall  git  as  wet  as  a  drownded  rat  !  Ou  !  git  off  my 
toe  !  {Kicks  a  board.)  Here,  Rove  !  here,  Rove  !  Where ’s  that 
dog,  I ’d  like  to  know  ?  (  Whistles.) 

Enter  Camille,  l.  h. 

Camille.  Which  way  shall  I  go  ?  I  cannot  cross  the  creek  !  I  hear 
them  shout  !■  {Shouts  in  the  distance.) 

Abim.  (r.)  Hello  ! 

Cam.  (l.  )  0,  Abimelech  ! 

Abim.  That  you  !  I  swanny  ! 

Cam.  Some  men  are  hunting  for  me  I  would  rather  die  than 
nave  them  find  me  ! 

Abim.  Who  be  they?  I  ’ll  set  Rove  on  to  ’em  !  {Shouts.) 

Cam  They  are  coming  !  I  don’t  know  where  to  go  ! 

Abim.  By  gracious  !  Wait  a  minute,  till  I  come  down  ! 

{Descends  from  the  stackC 


SCENE  V.J 


NEIGHBOR  d  ACKWOOD. 


45 


Cam.  0,  save  me  from  this  horror  !  I  do  not  fear  to  die  !  Bui  they 
pollute  body  and  soul  !  0,  Father  of  Love,  give  me  freedom  or 

death  ! 

Abim.  See  here  !  If  you ’d  like  to  hide  —  (Shouts.) 

Cam.  O  !  show  me  where  ! 

Abim.  I  guess  I  know  a  place  ;  though  I  don’t  want  father  to  find 
Dut ;  for  he  told  me  not  to  dig  holes  in  the  stack.  (Pulls  away  the 
lay,  and  opens  a  cavity  in  the  side  of  the  stack.)  It ’s  real  slick  an’ 
warm  in  there.  (Shouts.) 

Cam.  (Entering.)  0,  cover  me  quick  ! 

Abim.  Shall  I  leave  a  breathin’-place ?  (Covering  her.  Dog 
barks.)  -  Hello  !  what ’s  Rove  barkin’  at?  (Runs  to  the  side  scene , 
and  back.)  Say  !  there ’s  a  man  cornin’  with  a  great  big  hoss-whip  [ 

Cam.  Don’t  let  him  find  me  here  ! 

Abim.  Keep  still  !  I  ’ll  be  fixin’  the  boards  on  the  stack.  (Climbs 
the  stack ,  and  begins  to  tvhislle.) 

Dickson,  (l.,  without.)  Git  out  i  (Dog  barks.)  Git  out  !  (  Whip 
cracks. ) 

Abim.  He  won’t  bite  ye.  Here,  Rove  ! 

Enter  Dickson,  l.  h. 

Dick.  Git  out  !  (Makes  a  cut  behind  him.)  Say,  boy  ! 

Abim.  I  an’t  a  boy  !  I ’m  a  young  man  ! 

Dick.  Have  ye  seen  anybody  pass  this  way,  within  half  an  hour  ? 

Abim.  Pass  which  way  ? 

Dick.  Any  way  ;  along  by  the  crick. 

Abim.  What  crick  ? 

Dick.  Answer  my  question  ! 

Abim.  I  han’t  ben  here  half  an  hour,  I  should  n’t  think. 

Dick.  ( Cracks  his  whip.)  Look  a-here  !  None  o’  yer  trash  ! 

Abim.  What ’s  trash,  I ’d  like  to  know  !  • 

Dick.  [  ’ll  show  ye  !  I  cut  a  boy’s  trousers-legs  right  off  with  this 
yer  blaclr  snake,  t’  other  day. 

fibim.  That  an’t  none  o’  my  business. 

Dick.  Which  way  did  that  gal  go  ? 

Abim.  What  gal  ? 

Dick.  That  gal  that  come  along  about  twenty  minutes  ago. 

flbim.  If  there  was  one,  I  should  think  I ’d  seen  her. 

Dick.  That  won’t  do  !  (C  racks  his  whip  at  Abimelecii.) 

Abim  (Jumping  back.)  By  darn  ! 

Dick.  You  ’ll  look  paler  ’n  that  when  I  draw  about  a  quart  o’ 
blood  ou :  of  ye  ! 

Abim.  You  darsn’t  ! 

Dick.  I  ’ll  give  ye  jest  about  a  minute  an’  a  half  ;  then  if  ye  don’t 
walk  straight  up  to  the  scratch,  an’  spit  out  what  ye  know,  you  ’ll 
have  yer  clo's  cut  right  off ’m  yer  back,  an’  yer  hide  with  ’em  !  I  ’ll 
&ee  what  ye  got  hid  round  the  stack,  hei’e  ! 

Abim  (Sliding  down  the  side,  near  Camille.)  Say  ! 

Cam.  0,  Abimelech  ! 

Alim.  Keep  still  ! 

Pick.  What’s  that? 

Abim.  (Arranges  the  boards.)  If  ye  ’ll  help  me  with  these  boards. 
1  T.  go  up  to  the  house  with  ye,  and  see  if  sue ’s  there. 


id 


NEIGHBOR  JALKWOOD. 


[ACT  IU 


Dick  Wliat  ’s  your  name? 

Abim.  Bim. 

Dick.  Your  whole  name  ? 

Abim.  Bim’lech. 

Dick.  What ’s  your  father’s  name  ? 

Abim.  His  name ’s  Bim’lech,  too. 

Dick.  Bim’lech  what  ? 

Abim.  Jaekwood,  of  course. 

Dick.  You  ’re  one  o'  that  tribe,  be  ye  ? 

Abim.  Yes,  I  guess  not !  What  tribe? 

Dick.  Time ’s  up  !  Now,  what  ye  got  to  say  ? 

Abim.  Ou  !  you  better  not  hit  me  with  that ! 

Dick.  Cuss  that  boy  !  See  here  !  I  ’ll  give  ye  half  a  dollar. 
Abim.  I  guess  so  !  You  want  me  to  come  down  and  git  it  :  th«.a 
jou  ’ll  ketch  me,  and  gi’  me  a  lickin’  ! 

Dick.  I  ’ll  larn  ye  to  bother  a  feller  this  way  !  (Strikes.) 

Abim.  Come!  better  take  care  !  (Dodges.) 

Dick.  If  I  wan’t  in  a  hurry,  I ’d  make  furrers  in  your  hide  !  I  ’ll 
git  holt  of  ye,  some  time.  (Exit,  r.  h.) 

Abim.  (Descending  the  stack.)  See  here  !  better  try  ’t  now 
Guess  you  better  come  back,  hadn’t  ye?  Barn  his  ol’  whip,  I  say  , 
Cam.  Is  he  gone? 

Abim.  Yes,  confound  his  picter  !  Shall  I  go  and  tell  father? 

Cam.  If  you  will.  But  be  careful  — let  no  one  else  — 

Abim.  I  ’ll  keep  it  from  Pheeb,  any  way  !  Gracious,  how  it  rains  ! 
Say  !  I ’m  goin’,  now  ! 

Cam.  Yes  ;  go,  go  ! 

Abim.  Here,  Hove  !  here,  Rove  1  (Exit,  calling ,  l.) 


SCENE  VI. —  The  Lane.  JYight.  Storm  continues.  Enter  Dice- 

son,  R. 

Dickson.  Cuss  these  Yankee  farmers  ! 

Enos  (l.,  without,  singing.)  ’Tis  my  delight  in  a  shiny  night, 
in  the  season  of  the  year. 

Enos  enters,  under  a  dilapidated  umbrella. 

The  deuce  !  Here ’s  the  X.  Y.  Z.  chap  ! 

Dick.  Look  a-liere  !  Which  way  ye  go’n’  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  I  thought  I  should  go  this  way.  Any  objection  ? 

Dick.  Don’t  ye  want  to  earn  about  twenty-five  or  thirty  dollars, 
to-night  ? 

Enos.  Chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  Wal,  I  wouldn’t  mind  ;  though 
I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  — 

Dick  You  know  which  way  that  gal  went  ? 

E  nos.  0  !  ye  could  n’t  find  her,  could  ye  ?  —  Better  step  under  my 
umbrel  —  hey  ? 

Dick.  I ’m  go’n ’  to  find  her  !  I  never  had  one  of  ’em  git  away 
from  me,  y it  ! 

Enos.  Kind  of  a  bad  night  to  be  lookin’  arter  her,  — hey  ? 

Dick.  Hang  it  all  !  V  wculi  n’t  mind  that,  if  I  could  git  on  to  th« 
right  track  once 


eOENE  Y1I.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


47 


Enos.  Shi  . 

Dick.  Ye  would  n't  like  to  earn  thirty  dollars  now,  would  ye? 

Enos.  (Aside.)  Thirty  dollars!  If  I  only  did  know  —  what  a 
chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  Though,  of  course,  I  would  n’t.  —  Better  step 
under  my  umbrel  ! 

Dick.  No  time  to  lose.  Yes  or  no? 

Enos.  Wal,  the  last  I  see  of  her,  she  went  one  way,  an’  me  an’ 
Jackwood  took  Pheeb  an’  went  t’  other.  —  Say,  better  step  under  my 
*mbrel  —  hey  ? 

Dick.  Cuss  your  umbrel  ! 

Enos.  Sho  !  ye  don’t  say  !  Wal,  the  last  I  see  of  her,  I  did  n’t  see 
her  at  all  !  She  was  gone  ’fore  I  knowed  it.  Says  Jackwood,  says 
he,  Enos,  says  he  — 

Dick.  Cuss  these  Yankee  farmers  !  (Exit,  l.  h.) 

Enos.  Hello!  see  here!  Better  step  under  my  umbrel  !  —  Jingoes, 
now  !  if  I  only  had  knowed  which  way  she  went  —  though,  of  course, 
I  would  n’t  told.  Thirty  dollars  !  I  wonder  if  he  would  a’  gin  thirty 
dollars,  now  !  ’S  no  use  !  If ’t  did  n’t  rain  so,  I ’d  go  and  see  Tildy 
to-night.  Kind  o’  feel  as  though  I ’d  like  to  have  a  good  time.  (Sings.) 
’  T  is  my  delight  in  a  shiny  night ,  in  the  season  of  the  year. 

(Exit%  E.  H.) 


SCENE  VII.  —  Mr.  Jackwood’s  Kitchen.  Enter  Dickson,  r.  h.  1 
e.,  with  a  light.  Rain ,  thunder ,  and  lightning. 

Dickson.  They  can’t  fool  me  !  That  gal ’s  hid  away  somewheres 
in  this  house,  and  I ’m  cust  if  I  don’t  find  her.  The  idee  of  a  gal’s 
givin’  a  feller  the  slip  that  way  !  (Exit,  l.  h.  2  e.) 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood  ;  presently,  Mrs.  Jackwood,  r.  2  e. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise.  That  plaguy  kidnab- 
ber  !  I  would  n’t  begrudge  a  night’s  lodgin’  to  the  wust  enemy  I  got  ; 
but  I  could  a’  turned  him  out  doors  into  the  storm,  wityi  a  good  stom¬ 
ach,  if  there ’d  been  any  way  o’  gittin’  red  of  him  ! 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  How  narvous  you  be,  father  ! 

Mr.  J.  I’m  consanied  about  Charlotte. 

Mrs.  J.  She’ll  be  safe  there  in  the  stack.  Nobody  ’ll  ever  think 
of  looking  for  her  there. 

Mr.  J.  Yes  ;  but,  if ’t  keeps  on  rainin’,  there  ’ll  be  a  foot  of  water 
on  the  interval,  ’fore  mornin’  !  It  comes  down  like  forty-Teven  Dutch 
pedlers  !  I  guess  I  better  go  and  try  to  git  her  off.  I ’m  afraid  we  ’re 
goin’  to  have  a  flood.  (Puts  on  his  hat,  buttons  his  coat,  and  takes 
dou  a  lantern.)  If  I  can  git  out  o’  the  house  without  lettin’  that 
plaguy  kidnabber  know.  (Going.) 

Mrs.  J  Hark  !  what ’s  that  ? 

Enter  Dickson,  l.  h. 

Mr.  J.  I  shall  break  his  head  for  him  ’fore  we  *re  done  ! 

Dicksoi.  You ’re  up  late,  farmer. 

Mr.  J.  Do  ye  want  anything  p’tic’lar? 

Dick.  I  came  down  to  see  if  l  could  get  a  drink. 


48 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[aci  m. 


Mr.  J.  Bring  him  a  tumbler,  mother 

Dick.  It ’s  a  rainy  night. 

Mr.  J.  Terrible  ! 

Dick.  I  hope  that  gal  an’t  out  nowheres. 

Mr.  J.  I  hope  no  human  critter  alive  is  obleeged  to  be  out  sica  a 
tejus  night  as  this. 

Dick.  Look  a-here  !  I ’m  bent  on  findin’  that  gal,  an’  ’t  an’t  no 
us  3,  her  try  in’  to  get  away.  Now,  you  know  all  about  her  ! 

Mr.  J.  I  wish  I  did  ! 

Dick.  Be  reason’ble,  and  own  up.  Your  rescuin’  her  from  the 
fc?.ndj  of  the  officers  will  wind  you  up  for  this  world. 

Mr.  J.  Wal,  then  I  ’ll  take  my  chance  in  the  world  to  come  ! 

Dick.  Tell  ye  what,  though  ;  tell  me  where  she  is,  and  I  ’ll  see ’t ’s 
made  all  right,  an’  you  shan’t  suffer.  Besides,  look  a-here  !  There ’s 
fifty  dollars  for  ye,  if  ye ’d  like  to  ’arn  it  !  You  don’t  find  fifty  dol¬ 
lars  in  the  dirt  every  day,  I  reck’n. 

Mr.  J.  Wal,  I  don’t  ;  and  I  do’no’  ’bout  pickin  it  out  o’  jest  that 
kind  o’  dirt,  even  if  I  should. 

Dick.  I  ’ll  make  it  —  le’  me  see  —  sixty,  seventy,  seventy-five 
Now,  there ’s  a  chance.  Come,  le’s  set  down  and  talk  it  over. 

Mr.  J.  You  ’ll  have  to  wait  a  little  while,  fust. 

Dick.  You  go’n’  out  in  the  rain  ? 

Mr.  J.  Yes,  I  got  to  go  an’  look  to  my  dumb  beasts. 

Dick.  If  that ’s  all,  I  ’ll  go  along,  an’  we  ’ll  be  talk’n’. 

{A  wild ,  roaring  noise ,  in  ihe  distance.') 

Mr.  J.  See  here  !  Now,  you  jest  ’tend  to  your  business  the  rest  o i 
the  night,  or  you  ’ll  get  a  broken  pate  !  ( JYoise  increases.) 

Mrs.  J.  Father,  what ’s  that  noise  ? 

Mr.  J.  Heavens  an’  ’arth  !  It ’s  a  flood  !  Bim’lech  !  Bim’lech 

Dick.  A  flood  !  What ’s  that?  ' 

Mr.  J.  The  mill-dam  has  broke  away  ! 

Enter  Abimelecii,  l.  h.  1  e.,  putting  on  his  jacket. 

In  ten  minutes  the  valley  will  be  full  of  water  !  To  the  boat,  Bim’lecJ* ! 

Abimelech.  -The  ol’  thing  ’ll  leak  like  a  sive  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bring  a  dipper  to  bail  with  !  ( They  rush  off ,  d.  f.) 

Mrs.  J.  The  door-yard  ’s  all  afloat  !  jX 

Eider  Phcebe  and  Mrs.  Bigglesty,  r.  h.  2  e. 

Granamother  Rigglesty.  What  in  creation  !  My  sakes  ! 


6CENE  VIII. — Near  the  Creek.  Storm  continues.  Enter ,  e.  h. 
Mr.  Jackwood,  with  a  pair  of  oars.  Abimelech,  with  the  lantern 
and  a  dipper. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  Give  me  the  lantern.  Put  the  oars  into  the  boat 
Abimelech.  The  ol’  thing ’s  half  full  of  water. 

Mr.  J.  Be  bailin’  till  I  come. 

Enter  Dickson,  r.  h. 

Abim.  If  we  ’re  goin’  for  Charlotte,  don’t  let  him. 

Mr.  J.  I  ’ll  ’tend  u  him.  (io  D/ckson.)  Stan’  back  » 


8CEJN  E  IX.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 


Dickson.  You  ’re  goin’  in  the  boat,  I  reck’n. 

Abim.  Break  his  darned  ol’ cocoanut,  —  I  would  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  I  ( Exit  Abimelech,  l.) 

Dick.  If  it ’s  for  that  gal,  say  the  word,  and  I ’m  the  man  to  help  ! 

Mr.  J.  You  ’ve  done  enough  for  her,  and  for  us,  too 

Dick.  Look  a-here.  Farmer  Jackwood  ! 

Mr.  J.  We  ’re  goin’  to  pick  up  our  drowndin’  sheep.  There  won’t 
be  room  in  the  boat. 

Dick.  I  reck’n  I  ’ll  help  as  much  as  I  ’ll  hender.  I ’m  a  powerful 
hand  at  the  oars.  So,  no  fool’n’  ! 

Mr.  J.  Come,  at  yer  peril !  The  water ’s  deep  ! 

Dick.  I  reck’n  I  an’t  a-feared  to  go  where  you  can.  We  may  as 
well  keep  together,  I  reck’n. 

Mr.  J.  (Aside.)  Charlotte  must  be  saved  !  Come,  if  ye  will.  If 
he ’s  in  the  way,  —  by  all  the  powers  !  I  ’ll  duck  him  !  (Exit,  l. 

Dick.  Jest  my  cussed  luck,  if  that  gal ’s  drownded  !  (Exit,  l.) 


SCENE  IX. —  The  Stack.  An  inundation.  Camille  climbing  upon 

the  shed.  Tempest,  rain.  Sec. 

Camille.  Help  !  help  !  There  is  no  one  to  hear  !  Where  am  I  ? 
0,  wind,  and  rain,  and  flood  !  0,  darkness  !  I  fear  you  less  than  I 

fear  my  fellow-men  !  Death  is  my  friend  !  But,  to  be  drowned  —  0, 
terrible  !  I  will  climb  the  stack  !  (Shouts  in  the  distance.)  I  hear 
cries  !  0,  heaven  !  I  see  a  light !  It  is  coming  !  it  is  coming  !  (A 

shout.)  It  is  Mr.  Jackwood’s  voice  !  (The  shed  falls  ;  she  is  swept 
away  by  the  flood,  r.)  0,  help  !  help  !  help  ! 

Mr.  Jackwood.  (l.  h.  u.  e.,  without.)  Hold  yer  light,  Bim’lech  ! 

The  boat  appears ,  Mr.  Jackwood  steering,  Dickson  rowing,  Abime¬ 
lech  holding  the  lantern  on  the  bow. 

Dickson.  Here,  boy!  Take  this  oar;  hold  it  so-fashion  —  keep 
the  boat  up  ag’inst  the  stack  !  (Mounts  the  stack.)  There ’s  no  gal 
here  !  Jest  my  cussed  luck  ! 

Abim.  0  !  the  boat ’s  goin’  off  !  I  can’t  keep  it !  Father  1 

Mr.  J.  Reach  me  the  eend  of  the  oar  ! 

Abim.  0,  quick  ! 

Mr.  J.  I  got  ye  !  Keep  tight  holt ! 

Dick.  Why  did  n’t  ye  do  as  I  told  ye  ?  Be  ye  a  fool  ? 

Abim.  Darn  that  man  !  I  wish  he  was  drownded  ! 

Mr.  J.  Hush,  Bim’lech  !  Now  hold  yer  lantern  !  (Shoves  off. ) 

Dick.  What  ye  ’bout?  Here  !  take  me  aboard  ! 

Mr.  J.  I  got  to  look  arter  them  lambs.  Hold  the  lantern,  Bim’- 
tech  ! 

Dick.  Jest  my  cussed  luck  !  —  Don’t  leave  a  feller  in  this  kind  o* 
vray  !  Han’t  ye  got  no  human  feel’n’s? 

Mr.  J.  Can’t  ye  swim  ? 

Dick.  No  !  Scoundrel  ! 

Mr.  J.  Wal — ’tend  to  your  case  in  the  mornin’.  Hold  yer  lan¬ 
tern,  Bim’lech  !  ( Exeunt ,  in  boat  r.  h.  u.  e.) 


5 


60 


NEIGHBOR  JACK. WOOD. 


[ACT  XT 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  T.  —  Early  morning.  A  Room  in  Mu.  Greenwich’s  House . 

Enter  Mr.  Greenwich,  Mrs.  Greenwich,  and  Etty,  weeping „  X tr 

hands  to  her  face.  Enter  Robert.  — 

Mr.  Greenwich,  (c.)  Daughter,  this  Sabbath  morning  appears  a 
fitting  occasion,  and  we  will  proceed  to  a  settlement. 

Mrs.  Greenwich,  (l.)  The  child  is  almost  down  sick  — 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  (Seats  himself.)  This  way,  daughter. 
Put  down  your  hands.  (Etty,  r.  c.,  puts  down  her  right  hand.)  I 
said  put  down  your  hands.  (She  puts  down  her  left ,  and  puls  up  her 
right.)  Daughter  !  (She  puts  both  down.)  Now  give  me  your  eye  ! 

Mrs.  G.  The  poor  child  has  such  a  cold  in  her  head  and  eyes  — 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  How  often  must  I  request  that  you  will 
not  interfere  in  the  paternal  discipline?  (Robert  whistles.)  Son 
Robert  !  is  it  becoming  in  you  to  whistle  on  an  occasion  of  this  nature? 
Respect  the  paternal  head  ! 

Robert,  (r.)  To  be  sure  !  (Drums  with  his  fingers.) 

Mr.  G.  Daughter,  hold  up  your  right  hand.  For  remissness  in 
your  Latin  lessons  the  past  week,  you,  Henrietta  Greenwich,  are 
sentenced  to  one  day  upon  bread  and  water.  For  laughing  twice, 
while  that  I  was  speaking,  on  Friday  night,  another  day.  For  using 
the  unladylike  expression,  O  dear,  I  can’t !  when  that  I  gave  you  a 
task,  half  a  day.  For  smiling  during  the  divine  service,  last  Sabbath, 
half  a  day  ;  total,  three  days  on  bread  and  water,  —  namely,  Sunday, 
Tuesday,  and  Thursday.  Thank  me,  daughter  ! 

Etty.  (Sobbing.)  Thank  you,  sir  ! 

Mr.  G.  Daughter,  you  can  withdraw.  Son  Robert,  I  have  also 
treasured  a  few  words  for  your  edification. 

Rob.  Proceed  !  (Hums  an  air.) 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert,  a  more  respectful  attitude  will  be  quite  as 
becoming  in  listening  to  the  paternal  head. 

Mrs.  G.  *  Come  here,  my  poor  child  !  (  To  Etty.) 

Mr  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  Son  Robert,  you  amaze  me  ! 

Rob.  0,  do  I?  That’s  quite  extraordinary  !  ( Assumes  a  prim 

attitude,  and  twirls  his  thumbs.) 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert,  your  conduct  of  late  lias  been  disgraceful  to 
the  name  of  .Greenwich  !  The  report  is,  that  you  indulge  im  drarn- 
irinking  ;  and  you  have  carried  your  disregard  for  my  wishes  so  far 
as  to  smoke  cigars  in  my  own  house  !  (A  pinch  of  snuff.) 

Rob.  (Aside.)  I  ’ll  abjure  Havanas,  and  addict  myself  to  snuff  ! 
Go  it,  old  white-head  ! 

Enter  Enos,  l. 

Enos.  Wal,  ’Squire  Greenwich,  they  ben  havin’  a  tearin’  time 
down  the  crick, —  I  s’pose  you  heerd. 

Rob .  Sit  down,  Mr.  Crumlett. 

Enos.  Who ’d  a’  thought  Charlotte  Woods  was  nothin’  but  a 
nigger  gal,  arter  all  ?  ’T  was  dre’ful  bad,  though,  ’bout  her  beia’ 
drownded  ! 


SCENE  II.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD. 


51 


Ah's.  G.,  Rob.,  and  Etty.  Drowned  ! 

Mr.  G.  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  Daughter  !  Son  Robert  '  I  was  about 
to  speak  !  What  is  this  you  say,  Enos? 

Enos.  Han’t  you  heerd,  though  ?  She  was  hid  in  Jackwood’s 
stack,  down  on  the  bottom  ;  when  the  dam  broke  away,  and  kivered 
the  stack  in  over  ten  foot  of  water  ! 

Rob.  {Aside.)  Death  and  furies  !  Drowned  ! 

Enos.  Look  here,  Bob  !  That  X.  Y.  Z.  chap  o’  vourn  — 

Rub.  Hist  ! 

Enos.  The  stack  makes  an  island,  and  he’s  turned  to  a  kind  o’ 
Robinson  Crusoe.  As  for  Jackwood,  he ’s  gone  off,  nobody  knows 
Where.  It’s  ben  a  reg’lar  tearin’  time,  tell  you  !  (Robert  crosses  l.  ) 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert  !  If  you  are  about  to  leave  the  house,  listen 
to  the  paternal  voice,  and  remain  ! 

Rob.  {Aside.)  I  must  know  the  truth  of  this  !  Hell-fire  is  in  me  ! 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert  !  Son  Robert  !  Detain  him,  Enos  ! 

Rob.  Hands  off" !  By  heaven  !  {Rushes  off,  l.) 

Enos.  Wal,  ’pears  to  be  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  ! 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert  !  Son  Robert  !  Hearken  !  remain  !  Son 
Robert !  {Exit,  l.  Mrs.  Greenwich  and  Etty  follow . 

Enos.  Wal,  slim  chance  for  a  spec’laiiou  in  these  parts  !  Guess 
I  ’ll  go  an’  see  Tildy  ‘Exit,  l. ) 


SCENE  II  -  A  Room  in  Mr.  Rukely’s  House.  A  table,  c.  Enter 

Mr.  Rukely. 

Mr.  Rukely.  What  a  terrible  night  it  has  been  !  I  could  not  sleep, 
for  thinking  of  my  sermon.  {Takes  MS.  from  table.) 

Enter  Bertha,  r.,  in  morning  dress. 

Bertha.  Husband  ! 

Mr.  R.  IIoav  pleasant  it  is,  indeed,  to  hear  that  word  !  Husband  t 

Bcr.  I  thought  your  sermon  was  finished. 

Mr.  R.  There  are  one  or  two  things  I  wash  to  alter. 

Ber.  I  am  afraid  you  won’t  see  so  large  a  congregation,  to-day,  as 
you  expected. 

Mr.  R.  It  is  my  first  sermon  on  the  slavery  questxm  ;  and  I  think 
there  ’ll  be  a  pretty  general  turn-out  to  hear  it.  {Seated  l.  of  table.) 
Shall  I  read  my  fourthly  aloud? 

Ber.  (r.  of  table.)  0,  certainly. 

Mr.  R.  {Reads.)  The  great  danger  consists  in  taking  narrow 
and  sectional  views  of  a  subject  which  should  only  be  regarded  in  a 
broad,  national  light.  That  seems  to  me  to  be  an  unanswerable  point. 
Don’t  you  think  so,  my  dear? 

Ber ,  {A'early  asleep.)  0,  yes  !  I  think  so. 

Mr.  R.  {Reads.)  We  have  no  right  to  peril  the  welfare  and  hap - 
pincss  of  a  nation,  by  espousing  the  cause  of  one  person  against  the 
laws  made  to  protect  and  regulate  all.  Is  not  that  conclusive  ? 

Ber.  Entirely  so.  But  I  am  not  sure  I  understand.  We  are  not 
to  assist  fugitive? 


52 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[icrr  nr 


Mr.  R.  Certainly  not !  Is  it  not  just  ? 

Ber.  True  ;  I  suppose  so.  ( Fulls  asleep.) 

Mr.  R.  For,  as  I  go  on  to  say,  (Reads.)  The  laws  are  tacred  s 
and  if  those  sta  utes —  (Knock  heard,  l.) 

Ber.  (Starting  up.)  Did  you  speak ?  (Knock.) 

Mr.  R.  There  is  somebody  at  the  door.  Matilda  ! 

Enter  Matilda,  r.  Knocks  continued. 

Ber  See  who  is  at  the  door. 

Matilda.  (Crosses,  l.)  Perty  smart,  I  should  think  !  Have  to 
gall  me  to  do  everything  !  I  wish  folks  could  wait  on  themselves  ! 

(Knocks.  Exit,  l.) 

Ber.  (Arranging  her  morning  dress.)  I  wonder  who  it  can  be,  at 
this  hour  !  Sunday  morning,  too  ! 

Reenter  Matilda,  l. 

Matilda.  0,  Mr.  Rukely  !  There’s  a  man  out  here  with  a  horse, 
and  some  dead  person  in  his  arms  ! 

Mr.  R.  and  Bertha.  Some  dead  person  ! 

Enter  Mr.  Jackwood,  l.,  bearing  Camille. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  (c  )  Make  way,  Tildy  ! 

j Ber.  (l.  )  Good  heavens  ! 

Mr.  R.  Neighbor  Jackwood  ! 

Mr.  J.  Help  me  git  this  ’ere  poor  gal  to  a  fire. 

Ber.  What  has  happened  to  her? 

Mr.  J.  She ’s  ben  drownded. 

Mr.  R.  Drowned  ! 

Ber.  (Recognizes  Camille.)  0,  Charlotte  ! 

Mat.  Charlotte  Woods  ! 

Mr.  R.  Be  calm,  my  dear  ! 

Mr.  J.  We ’d  better  be  gittin’  her  dry  and  warm,  fust  thing. 

Ber.  Bring  her  right  in  here!  Come,  Matilda  !  (Exit,  r.  2  e.) 

Mr.  J.  (Carries  Camille  out,  r.  2  e.)  Poor  gal  !  poor  gal  ! 

Mat.  I  wonder  if  Enos  knows  !  (Exit,  R.  2  E.) 

Mr.  R.  What  can  it  mean  ?  Charlotte  Woods  !  (Reenter  Mr. 
Jackwood.)  Shall  I  send  for  the  doctor? 

Mr.  J.  (l.)  Mr.  Itukely,  you  ’re  a  minister  o’  the  blessed  gospel  , 
you  got  lamin’  and.genus,  an’,  more  ’n  all  that,  I  b’lieve  your  heart ’s 
in  the  right  place. 

Mr.  R.  For  mercy’s  sake  !  what  is  the  trouble  ? 

Air.  J.  Charlotte ’s  a  fugitive,  and  the  kidnabbers  are  arter  her  ! 

Mr.  R  A  fugitive  !  A  slave  !  0,  my  sermon  ! 

Air.  J.  We  had  her  hid  in  the  stack,  last  night ;  but  she  got 
drownded  out.  She  got  on  the  shed,  and  was  there  when  it  washed 
away.  I  tell  ye  what,  it  give  me  a  start  I  shanh  git  over  in  a  hurry, 
when  I  got  to  the  stack  and  found  her  missin’.  flfal,  I  thought  it  all 
over.  You  know  Osborne’s  Flats?  There’s  a  place,  down  there, 
makes  a  big,  shaller  basin,  where  flood-wood  swims  round  and  round, 
sometimes,  for  half  a  day  ;  so  when  we  got  up  with  the  boat,  I  jumped 
en  to  ol’  Dan,  and  rode  down  to  the  turnpike  ;  and  there,  arter  h  int* 


SCENE  U.J 


KEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD 


53 


in’  round  till  daylight,  and  jest  as  I  was  goin’  to  give  her  up,  I  heard 
a  sheep  bl’at.  Then  I  looked  sharp,  an’  I  see  suthin’  lodged  agin  a 
knoll.  Wal,  sir,  ’t  was  that  shed-ruff  ;  and  Charlotte  was  on  it,  with 
two  o’  my  lambs  she’d  helped  out  o’  the  water.  She  was  boldin’  to 
some  bushes,  to  keep  the  raft  from  floatin’  off".  I  got  her  on  to  the 
•hoss,  and  brought  her  here  ;  and  now  she’s  safe  agin,  I  tell  ye,  I 
feel  jest  like  a  new  man  ! 

Mr.  R.  Safe  !  (Aside.)  My  sermon  ! 

Mr.  J.  She ’s  been  through  a  dre’ful  tough  night ! 

Mr.  R.  In  my  house  ! 

Mr.  J.  I  ’ve  an  idee  strikes  me  !  The  kidnabbers  will  think  she 
drownded — don’t  you  see?  They’ll  give  her  up;  and  then  we’ll 
hurry  her  otf  to  Canada. 

Mr.  R.  But,  if  the  story  should  get  out  ! 

Mr.  J.  Jest  make  sure  of  Tildy,  and  I  don’t  see  how  it  any  ways 
can.  You ’ve  no  scruples  agin  keepin’  her,  of  course? 

Mr.  R.  No  scruples  —  that  is,  the  laws  of  the  country  — 

Mr.  J.  I  tell  ye  what  !  I  respect  the  laws,  and  I  don’t  think  I  ’a. 
a  bad  citizin,  gen’ly  speakin’.  But,  come  case  in  hand,  a  human  crit¬ 
ter  ’s  of  more  account  than  all  the  laws  in  Christendom.  When  He 
was  on  ’arth  ( points  upward ),  He  never  stopped  to  ax  whether  it  was 
lawful  to  do  a  good  deed,  but  went  and  done  it ! 

Mr.  R.  Neighbor  Jackwood,  you  are  right  !  You  can  depend  upon 
me  ! —  (Aside.)  My  sermon  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bless  you,  sir  !  I  knowed  it  !  When  there ’s  a  duty  to  be 
done  to  a  feller-mortal,  you  an’t  the  man  to  stop  to  look  arter  the  con¬ 
sequences  !  On’y  take  care  o’  that  poor  gal —  ( chokingly )  — excuse 
me,  I  —  I  —  I  believe  I  took  cold  in  the  boat  !  Bless  you,  sir  !  I  ’ll 
thank  you  some  other  time  !  (  Wrings  his  hand,  and  exit,  l. ) 

Mr.  R.  Most  extraordinary  !  A  fugitive  in  my  house  !  0,  my 

miserable,  heartless  sermon  ! 

Berilm.  (At  the  door ,  it.  2  e.)  Husband,  will  you  heat  some 
brandy  ?  As  quick  as  you  can,  please  ! 

Mr.  R.  I  heat  brandy  for  a  fugitive?  —  I  ?  ( Gathers  up  the  sheets 

of  his  sermon ,  and  hurries  from  the  room ,  l.  2  e.) 

Ber.  Why,  husband  !  What  are  you  doing? 

Reenter  Mr.  Rukely. 

Mr.  R.  Kindling  the  fire,  to  heat  some  brandy. 

Ber.  But  that  was  your  sermon  ! 

Mr.  R.  I  hope  it  will  do  good.  0,  Bertha,  I  find  there  is  a  differ 
ence  between  writing  from  the  head  and  acting  from  the  heart ! 

Ber.  What  do  you  mean? 

Mr.  R.  Neighbor  Jackwood  has  taught  me  a  lesson.  I  have  written 
out  cold,  theories,  and  you  have  assented  to  them  drowsily  ;  but  when 
J  tell  you  that  Charlotte  Woods,  in  that  room,  is  — 

Ber.  What? 

Mr.  R.  Is  herself  a  fugitive  !  — 

Ber.  Charlotte  Woods? 

M r.  R.  Shall  we  turn  her  from  our  door  ? 

Ber.  Not  for  all  the  world  !  0  !  Charlotte  ! 

Mr,  R.  You  are  awake,  now  —  so  am  I !  How  have  we  talked, 
5* 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[act  it. 


o4 

and  written,  and  fallen  asleep,  with  our  cold,  dead  theories,  like  the 
thoughtless  world  around  us  !  But  there  is  a  living  soul  in  that  room  ! 
We  are  responsible  for  her  to  our  Divine  Master  !  We  will  save  her  ! 
Ber.  We  will  save  her  !  ( Exeunt ,  r.  2  e.) 


SCENE  III.  —  Mr.  Jackwood’s  Kitchen.  Enter  Mr.  Jackwood, 

Dickson,  and  Abimelech,  d.  f. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  ( Down  c.)  Hope  ye  had  a  good  time,  out  on  the 
stack,  there.  Bim’lech,  here,  was  for  leavin’  ye  to  pass  yer  Sunday 
there  ;  but  I  guessed  mebby  you  ’d  like  to  go  to  meetin’. 

Dickson,  (r.  )  All  right  !  I  shall  get  my  pay,  I  reck’n. 

Mr.  J.  Wal,  you ’d  oughter  !  A  man  ’t  puts  his  hand  to  your 
kind  o’  business  desarves  to  git  his  pay  !  You  did  n’t  see  none  o’  my 
drownded  sheep,  did  ye  ? 

Dick.  I  had  somethin’  else  to  think  of. 

Mr.  J.  Glad  o’  that  !  It ’s  Sunday,  and  we ’d  ought  all  on  us  to 
be  thinkin’  o’  suthin’  else.  I  s’pose  you  ’ll  st:iy  to  breakfast  with  us. 
You  desarve  some  breakfast,  that ’s  a  fact.  Speak  to  the  folks,  Bim¬ 
’lech.  (Abimelecii  yoes  off,  r.  2  e.) 

Dick.  Look  a-here  !  What ’s  the  wuth  of  a  farm  like  this  o* 
vourn  ? 

Mr.  J.  Th'nk  of  buyin’  and  settlin’  amongst  us,  do  ye?  Took  with 
our  manners  and  customs,  I  s’pose. 

Dick.  I  only  asked  for  information. 

Mr.  J.  Wal,  in  that  case,  —  though ’t  is  Sunday,  —  I  don’t  mind 
Bayin’  that  the  vally  I  set  on  my  property,  here,  is  seven  thousan’ 
dollars,  cash  on  the  nail  !  (Abimelech  returns ,  and  crosses ,  l. ) 

Dick.  An’  s’pos’n  you  should  wake  up,  some  finemornin’,  and  find 
you  had  n’t  no  farm,  an’  no  seven  thousan’  dollars,  nuther  ? 

Mr.  J.  I  should  try  to  git  along  without,  then  ;  and  larn  to  be 
thankful  for  what  I  did  have. 

Dick.  I ’d  advise  ye  to  cultivate  that  feel’n’,  ’gainst  the  time  comes  • 
an’  I  prophesy ’t  won’t  be  slow  com’n’  !  ' 

Mr.  J.  That ’s  perty  talk  from  a  man ’t  I ’ve  invited  toT)reakfast ! 

Dick.  I  reck’n  your  firm  an’t  none  too  big  to  cover  this  little 
business  o’  yourn  —  ye  understand?  Harborin’  and  rescuin’  that  gal ! 
The  wuth  of  a  fine,  han’some  piece  of  property,  like  her,  an’t  less  ’n 
fifteen  hundred,  in  the  fust  place.  These  yer  white  ones  come  mighty 
high.  Then  there  ’s  fines,  and  imprisonment  — 

Mr.  J.  It ’s  Sunday,  an’  we  wron’t.  talk  over  business*!  guess,  ’fore 
to-morrer.  But,  I  ’ll  tell  ye  one  thing  :  though  I  set  as  much  by  my 
farm  as  any  man,  I  would  n’t  mind  losin’  it  in  a  good  cause,  if  I  could 
be  o’  sarvice  to  a  feller-critter  by  so  doin’,  an  save  ’em  from  scoun¬ 
drels  and  man-stealers,  like  you  ! 

Dick.  I ’m  used  to  these  cases. 

Mr.  J.  Wal,  I  an’t,  an'  I’m  glad  on ’t !  But  le’s  drop  the  subject 
We  ’ll  have  breakfast. 


SCENE  IV  j 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


Enter  Mrs.  Jackwood  and  Phcebe,  r.  2  e. 

Abimclech.  (l.)  Darned  if  I ’d  give  him  any  breakfast !  (The% 
sit  at  table.) 

Phcebe.  I  can’t  eat,  this  mornin’. 

Mr.  J.  We  ’ll  excuse  ye.  But  don’t  cry  no  mere  ;  ’t  won’t  do  ne 
good. 

Dick.  I  s’pose  ye  won’t  object  to  lendin’  me  a  hoss  for  a  couple  of 
tours,  this  mornin’  ? 

Mr.  J.  I  do  object  to  lendin’  you  a  hoss  ! 

Dick.  I  reck’n  I ’m  good  for  more  ’n  one  hoss  ! 

Mr.  J.  Mebby  ;  but  I  should  want  suthin’  ’sides  your  business  oi 
your  face  to  recommend  ye. 

Abim.  There ’s  somebody  come  1 

Mr.  J.  See  who  it  is,  my  son. 

Abim.  (At  d.  f.)  It ’s  one  o’  them  men  !  Says  he  wants  Dickson. 

Dick.  I  ’ll  be  that*  in  a  minute. 

Mr.  J.  Ask  him  to  come  in  and  have  some  breakfast. 

Abim.  I  would  n’t  1 

Mr.  J.  Mind  ! 

Abim.  Darn  the  kidnappers,  I  say? 

Dick.  What  do  I  owe  ye  ?  (Takes  out  purse.) 

Mr.  J.  Not  a  red  cent  ! 

Dick.  Don’t  ye  never  take  pay  when  strangers  put  up  with  ye  ? 

Mr.  J.  I  neither  lend  nor  sell  to  sich  as  you  !  Your  money ’s 
*arnt  in  a  bad  trade,  and  I ’d  ruther  have  nothin’  to  do  with  it  ! 

Dick.  Cuss  these  Yankee  farmers  !  (Exit,  d.  f.) 

(Abimelech  shakes  his  fist  behind  Dickson’s  back.  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood  scrapes  dishes  with  knife,  clearing  table.) 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  ! 

Abim.  (Down  i.  c.)  Say,  they  can’t  git  your  farm  away  from  ye, 
can  they? 

Mr.  J.  (c.)  You  may  be  sartin  they  will,  if  they  can  !  The  law  ’a 
on  their  side,  too,  I  s’pose. 

Abim.  I  would  n’t  let  ’em  !  I ’d  sue  'em  ! 

Mr.  J.  That  ’ll  do,  Bim’lech.  We  ’ll  be  gettin’  ready,  now,  to  go 
to  meetin’.  We  are  goin’  to  the  house  of  Him  —  so,  le’s  banish  all  self¬ 
ish  thoughts,  and  forgive  our  enemies — even  the  poor,  ignorant  kid- 
nabbers,  that  come  a-hunting  their  human  prey  into  the  very  quiet  of 
our  homes.  Come,  Phoebe  ;  come,  Bim’lech.  ( Exeunt ,  r.  ) 


SCENE  IV.  —  Mr.  Rukely’s  Kitchen.  Enter  Enos,  r.,  and  Ma¬ 
tilda,  l. 

Enos.  Wal,  ’Tildy,  how  de  dew  these  times,  hey?  Whew  !  han’‘ 
I  put  in,  walkin’  down*  here  through  the  mud  ! 

Matilda.  Take  off  your  coat,  and  set  down. 

Enos.  (  Takes  off  outside  coat.)  You ’ve  heard  the  news,  I  s’pose. 
Mat.  About  Charlotte  Woods? 

Eirs,  Queer,  an’t  it 9  (Havgs  coat  on  chair ,  and  sits  downt 

i.  o  > 


\ 


66  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD.  [AOT  IV. 

r 

Mat.  ( Seated ,  l.)  0,1  wasn’t  much  surprised  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  I  was,  now  !  I  knowed  her  like  a  book.  She  wan’ t 
half  so  black  as  some  white  folks  I  know.  She  was  jest  dark  enough 
to  be  re’l  perty. 

Mat  You  fancy  dark  complexions,  I  see. 

Enos.  Of  course  I  do  — 

Mat.  I  admire  your  taste  ! 

Enos.  And  that ’s  what  makes  me  like  you. 

Mat.  *You  don’t  call  me  dark,  I  hope  ? 

Enos.  I  don’t  call  you  nothin’  else. 

Mat.  Well,  if  you  han’t  got  eyes  ! 

Enos.  You  ’re  darker  ’n  Charlotte  Woods,  now,  come  ! 

Mat.  I  ?  Maybe  I  be  !  Your  welcome  to  think  so  ;  as  if  I  eared  ! 

Enos.  Need  n’t  be  mad  !  I  don’t  mean  your  skin  is  like  hern  - 

Mat.  Which  you  admired  so  much  ! 

Enos.  You  an’t  exactly  dark  —  Aval,  I  can’t  express  it  ;  on’y  you  ’re 
red  —  no,  not  red,  but  kind  o’  red  and  brown.  Come,  ye  an’t  mad, 
be  ye  ?  ( Hitches  his  chair  towards  her.) 

Mat.  I  do  wish  you  ’d  go  aAvay  ! 

Enos.  There  !  that ’s  all  I  wanted  !  If  you ’ve  got  sich  a  temper, 
I  don’t  see  but  that  we  may ’s  well  break  off  !  ( Puts  on  his  coat.) 

Mat.  If  you  want  to  go,  I ’m  sure  I  shan’t  hender  ye  ! 

Enos.  Much  obleeged  !  (Buttons  his  coat.)  I’m  glad  you ’re  so 
willin’  ! 

Mat.  Of  course  I  am,  if  you ’ve  got  sick  of  me,  and  want  to  break 
olf  !  ( Beginning  to  cry.)  You  Avould  n’t  quit  so,  if  you  wan’t  !  It ’s 

you  that ’s  got  temper,  I  should  think  ! 

Enos.  I  ?  I  han’t  got  the  least  grain  o’  temper  in  the  world  !  Look 
here  !  I  guess  Ave  ’ll  talk  that  over. 

Mat.  Set  doAvn,  Avon’t  ye,  while  ye  stay  ? 

Enos.  No  !  I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  !  What  do  ye  mean  about 
my  havin’  temper  ?  Come  ! 

Mat.  Take  off  your  coat,  won’t  ye? 

Enos.  No  ;  I  guess  riot  !  (  Unbuttons  his  coat.) 

Mat.  You  better.  It ’s  perty  warm  here. 

Enos.  Wal,  you  do  beat  all  the  gals  !  You  can  make  a  feller  dew 
anything  !  ( Pulls  off  his  coat.)  Kind  o’  like  ye,  Tildy,  arter  all ! 

Mat.  I  did  n’t  know  you  was  so  well  acquainted  with  Charlotte 
Woods. 

Enos.  0,  I  was  n’t  much.  Who  said  I  was  ? 

Mat.  You  ;  you  said  you  knew  her  like  a  book. 

Enos.  0,  Aval,  I  meant  I ’d  seen  her  a  good  many  times.  What  do 
ye  look  so  for  ? 

Mat.  So  —  Iioaa  . 

Enos.  ( Imitating .)  Kind  o’  so.  Just  as  if  you  knowed  suthin'  *t 
you  Avould  n’t  tell. 

Mat.  I  ?  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  I  an’t  goin’  to  tease.  —  Folks  all  gone  to  meetin’  ? 

Mat.  I  han’t  gone. 

Enos.  There ’t  is  agin!  See  here!  what  is ’t,  now?  Anything 
about  Charlotte  ? 

Mat.  What  do  you  care  about  Charlotte? 

Enos.  (Jumping  up.)  There  !  I  an’t  a-goin’  to  stan’  that,  any  way  ! 

(Puts  on  his  coat.) 


SCENE  V.] 


NEIGHBOR  „  ACKWOOlt 


67 


Mat.  Stand  what  ? 

Enos.  ( Buttoning  himself  up  to  the  chin.)  You  ’re  so  everlastin’ 
silly  !  So !  { Imitating  her  simper .)  And  when  I  ask  ye  what  it  is, 
tell  me  it ’s  none  o’  my  business  !  ( Puts  on  his  hat.) 

'  Mat.  Why,  what  do  ye  mean  ? 

Enos.  You  know  suthin’,  you  know  ye  do! 

Mat.  If  I  do,  it ’s  something  I  can’t  tell. 

Enos.  Gosh  all  hemlock  !  an’t  we  engaged  ?  If  there ’s  anything 
you  can’t  tell  me,  guess  we  may  as  well  break  off. 

Mat.  Bertha  nevei  d  forgive  me,  if  I  should  tell. 

Enos.  If  you  think  more  c  Berthy  ’n  you  do  of  me,  that ’s  enough  ’ 
Good-by  ! 

Mat.  Enos  !  look  here  !  won’t  ye  never  tell  ? 

Enos.  Good-by  ;  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry. 

Mat.  It ’s  something  about  Charlotte. 

Enos.  Sho’  !  You  don’t,  though,  Tildy  ! 

Mat.  Won’t  ye  never  tell,  now,  as  long  as  you  live  ? 

Enos.  No  ;  hope  to  die  ! 

Mat.  0,  I  would  n’t  have  Bertha  know,  for  the  world  ! 

Enos.  Sho’  !  You  don’t  say  !  Chaidotte  han’t  got  off,  has  she, 
arter  all  the  fuss  about  her  bein’  drownded  ? 

Mat.  She ’s  in  this  very  house  ! 

Enos.  No  ! 

Mat.  True  as  I  live  !  Mr.  Jack  wood  fetched  her. 

Enos.  In  this  very  house  !  Beats  everything  !  What  ’u’d  them 
Southern  chaps  give?  Jingoes,  Tildy  !  it ’s  the  greatest  thing  I  ever 
heerd  in  my  life  !  ( Gets  up,  sits  down  again ,  and  doubles  himself  up , 
embracing  his  knees,  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner.) 

Mat.  Now,  dou’t  you  ever  tell,  in  all  this  world  ! 

Enos.  An’t  it  a  good  one  ?  Takes  me  right  out  o’  my  boots  ! 
Jerusha  mighty  !  {Going,  u.) 

Mat.  Don’t  go  ! 

Enos.  Must  ;  I ’m  in  a  tearin’  hurry  !  I  got  to  go  over  to  tie 
tavern  to  see  a  man  talks  o’  tradin’  for  my  four-year-old  mare. 

Mat.  Don’t  ye  tell  !  {Puts  up  chairs  behind.) 

Enos.  In  this  very  house  !  0,  ho  !  ho  !  he  !  lie  !  I  shall  die  laf. 
fin’  over  it,  if  I  stay  another  minute  !  What ’d  that  X.  Y.  Z.  chap 
give  ? 

Mat.  Stay  just  a  minute,  Enos  ! 

Enos.  Don’t  stop  me  !  I  tell  ye,  I ’m  in  the  allfiredest  hurry  ! 

( Exeunt ,  R.l 

SCENE  Y.  —  The  Tavern  Steps. 

Enter  Dickson,  l. 

Dickson.  Shall  have  to  give  her  up,  I  s’pose.  It  makes  me  mad,  I 
swear,  to  lose  a  gal  that  way  !  Handsome  piece  o’  property,  like 
that  — 

Enter  Enos,  r. 

Enos.  Hello,  you  !  quite  a  spell  o’  weather,  arter  the  shower. 
*T  was  dre’ful  unfort’nit  ’bout  her  gittin’  drownded  !  Hey? 

Dick.  ’T  an’t  all  over  with  yet,  though  ! 


.NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


68 


rAOT  IV 


Enos.  Sho’  ! 

Dick.  Things  is  work’n’. 

Enos.  I  s’pose  there  an’t  no  doubt  ’bout  her  bein’  drownded,  hey' 
Give  ;t  up  as  a  gone  case,  I  s’pose? 

Dick.  ’Mighty  doubtful  ’bout  our  ever  bearin’  of  her  again,  I 
reck’n. 

Enos.  ’T  wouldn’t  be  nothin’  so  very  strange,  though,  if  she  was 
hid  away  somewheres  right  in  the  neighborhood,  would  it?  Though, 
of  course,  ’tan’t  ’tall  likely. 

Dick.  The  next  thing  would  be,  to  get  a  clue. 

Eiios.  ’T  would  n’t  be  a  bad  joke,  hey  ?  You ’d  be  tickled,  I  guess  ’ 

Dick.  Wal,  I  should  ! 

Enos.  Can’t  help  laffin’  ! 

Dick.  (Aside.)  Something  here  !  I ’d  give  a  hundred  dollars  !  — 

Enos.  Hey  !  what  ? 

Dick.  I  ’<1  give  a  hundred  dollars,  just  to  have  such  a  clue  as  I 
speak  of. 

Enos.  You  would  n’t  give  me  a  hundred  dollars,  now,  jest  s’pose, 
for  instance  —  (Aside.)  Goodness  gracious  !  how  it  makes  the  sweat 
start  ! 

«•  Dick.  Tell  ye  what  I  would  do,  just  for  the  sake  o’  talk’n’.  I ’d 
give  fifty  dollars,  cash  down,  and  fifty  more  in  case  the  gal  was  found. 

Enos.  (Aside.)  How  like  Sam  Hill  it  makes  me  shiver  !  —  But, 
since  she ’s  drownded,  there  an’t  no  use  talkin’.  Bine  spell  o’ 
weather,  looks  like,  now 

Dick.  You  an’t  goin  ? 

Enos.  Wal,  y is  —  I’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry.  Ye  ’xpect  to  stay 
long  in  these  parts  ? 

Dick.  That  depends.  If  I  could  lay  hands  on  that  gal  — 

Enos.  He  !  he  !  Haf  to  laf  !  —  What  if  I  could  find  out  suthin’ 
about  her?  —  though  ’tan’t  possible,  of  course  !  Oo-oo-ooh  !  (Shiv¬ 
ers,  and  wipes  the  sweat  from  his  face  with  his  sleeve.) 

Dick.  Look  a-here  !  (Takes  gold  from  his  pocket.)  Three  —  six 
• —  nine  —  there ’s  twelve  half-eagles  ;  that  makes  sixty  dollars.  Here, 
don’t  go  ! 

Enos.  (Shivering.)  Must;  I’m  in  a  desprit  hurry.  (Aside.) 
Jerusha  mighty  !  what  if  I  should  tell  ?  Oo-oo-ooh  ! 

Dick.  But,  see  here  ! 

Enos.  You  don’t  mean  to  say  you ’d  give  that  — • 

Dick.  Yes,  and  as  much  more,  when  the  gal ’s  found.  Now,  that ’s 
fair  ! 

Enos.  So  ’t  is  ;  but  what ’s  the  use  ?  Of  course  she ’s  drownded  ! 

Dick.  That ’s  gold  ;  twice  sixty ’s  a  hundred  and  forty. 

Enos.  A  liunderd  and  twenty. 

Dick.  Wal,  we ’ll  call  it  a  hundred  and  forty  —  sixty  down,  and 
eighty  on  condish’n. 

Enos.  (Aside.)  A  hundred  and  forty  !  Jerusha  mighty  !  Here  h 
a  chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  I  ’ra  afraid  I  shall  tell  !  —  I  guess  I  ’ll  be 
gein’  ;  I ’m  in  a  good  deal  of  a  hurry. 

Dick.  She ’s  got  friends  up  here,  I  reck’n.  They ’d  buy  her 
ruther  ’n  see  her  go  South  agin,  would  n’t  they  ?  Her  owner ’s  in  New 
York.  All  he  wants  is  the  wuth  of  his  property 

Enos.  That ’s  nat’ral.  Oo-oo-oo-ooh  ! 


»C£NE  VI.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACRWOOD. 


59 


Dick.  And  ’t  would  be  a  mighty  sight  better  for  you  an5  Mr.  Jack- 
wood,  too  ! 

Enos.  Ifey  !  Better  for  me  an’  Jaekwood  ? 

Dick.  Of  course.  I  don't  say ’t  I  blame  either  of  ye  ;  bui  I  s’pose 
you  know  the  consequences  of  helpin’  a  fugitive  off. 

Enos.  Sho  !  * 

Dick.  I  consider  it  wuth  about  five  hundred  dollars  to  be  pitched 
Hit  o’  the  window,  that  way  — 

Enos.  Look  here,  now  !  You  don’t  mean  —  0,  Jerusha  mighty  ! 

here ’s  a  chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  {Aside.) 

Dick.  But  give  me  a  clue  to  that  gal,  and  we  ’ll  call  that  matter 
iquare  .  you  shall  have  the  hundred  and  forty  dollars  besides. 

Enos.  See  here,  I  an’t  a  goin’  to  be  scart,  0  no  !  But,  see  here  — 
(  Wipes  his  face  with  his  sleeve.) 

Dick.  What  do  ye  say  ? 

Enos.  Why,  I  could  n’t  find  out  nothin’,  if  I  should  try.  Though, 
by  jingoes  !  I  ’ve  a  good  notion  jest  to  inquire  ’round. 

Dick.  That’s  right!  Come,  —  come  into  the  tavern  and  take 
somethin’. 

Enos.  Can’t  possibly,  — I  —  I  —  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  !  Oo-oo- 
ooh  ! 

Dick.  Come  along  ! 

Enos.  Why,  of  course,  she’s  drownded,  —  so  I  guess,  on  the  hull, 
’t  won’t  be  wuth  while. 

Dick.  {Puts  money  in  his  hand.)  I  ’ll  make  it  worth  yer  while  ! 
That ’s  to  pay  ye  for  yer  trouble,  any  way.  Come  along  ;  I  ’ll  order 
somethin’  hot  for  ye.  {Exit,  d.  f.) 

Enos.  Gold!  What  ’u’d  Tildysay?  Oo-oo-ooh  !  Jingoes!  howl 
sweat ! — ’Fraid  I ’m  goin’  to  have  a  shake  o’  the  ager  !  Guess  I  may 
as  well  take  suthin’  hot !  This  come  from  the  South  —  {looks  at  the 
coin)  —  who  knows  but  I  may  have  ketched  the  yaller  fever  !  Oo-oo- 
ooh  !  I  ’ll  take  suthin’  hot,  any  way  !  {Exit,  d.  f.) 


SCENE  VI.  —  Room  in  Mr.  Rukely’s  House.  Camille  upon  a 
lounge.  Bertha  approaching  her. 

Bertha,  (r.)  You  are  better,  now. 

Camille.  Cl.)  0,  so  much  better,  dear  Bertha  !  But  I  am  very 
feeble,  yet.  The  horrors  of  last  night  haunt  me  still  ! 

Bcr.  Do  not  think  of  them. 

Cam.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  taken,  and  carried  back  into  slavery. 

Ber.  You  !  into  slavery  !  0,  Charlotte  ! 

Cam.  Dc  not  call  me  Charlotte  any  more.  My  name  is  Camille. 

Ber  You  have  promised  to  tell  me  your  history. 

Cam.  And  so  I  will.  My  father  was  a  French  merchant,  in  New 
Orleans  ;  my  mother  was  a  child  of  bondage. 

Ber.  A  slave  ! 

Cam..  Do  not  blame  them  —  they  loved  each  other.  I  was  their 
only  child.  I  was  petted  and  spoiled,  —  0,  well  do  I  remember  those 
happy  days  !  WThen  I  was  ten  years  old,  my  father  was  preparing  to 
take  us  to  France  —  then  first  I  knew  the  curse  ! 


GO 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


[ACT  17. 


Bi  r.  He  died  ! 

Cam  Too  suddenly  !  We  were  left  slaves — we  became  the  prop¬ 
erty  of  a  cold  and  cruel  woman,  —  his  wife,  —  who  hated  us  because 
he  had  loved  us.  Her  cruelty  broke  my  mother’s  heart.  1  was 
sold. 

Ber.  You,  Charlotte  !  sold  ! 

Cam.  Yes,  —  and  sold  again  and  again!  My  third  mistress  was 
Mrs.  Graves,  the  most  beautiful  character  I  ever  knew  ;  she  made  me 
her  companion,  educated  me,  and  loved  me  as  a  sister. 

Ber.  Why  did  you  not  stay  with  her  always? 

Cam.  Ah,  Bertha,  the  poor  slave-girl  cannot  choose  !  Her  husband 
sold  me,  in  a  fit  of  jealous  rage.  I  became  the  property  of  a  specu¬ 
lator  in  Mobile. 

Ber.  Property  ! 

Cam.  0,  Bertha,  you  don’t  know  what  it  is  to  be  the  property  of 
a  brutal,  sensual  man  !  Fortunately,  his  wife  was  jealous,  and  pro¬ 
tected  me.  It  was  in  her  house  that  I  first  saw  —  Hector. 

Ber.  Hector  Dunbury  ! 

Cam.  He  was  brought  there  by  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Tan  wood’s,  named 
Roberts.  It  was  this  Roberts  who  assisted  me  to  escape.  We  commu¬ 
nicated  by  secret  signs  and  notes.  He  brought  me  the  articles  of  my 
disguise,  and  took  me  one  night  on  board  a  vessel  in  the  bay.  0,  but 
he  proved  a  traitor,  Bertha  !  He  accompanied  me  on  the  voyage  to 
New  York,  not  as  the  friend  I  thought  him,  but  as  a  vulture,  who  had 
snatched  me  from  other  vultures  to  make  me  his  private  prey  ! 

Ber.  Tell  me  how  ! 

Cain.  All  that  must  remain  till  I  am  stronger.  The  wound  you 
discovered  on  my  breast  — 

Ber.  He  stabbed  you  there  ! 

Cam.  ’T  was  I  who  placed  the  knife  between  us,  to  save  what  was 
dearer  than  life.  I  appealed  to  the  captain,  and  he  brought  me 
to  New  York,  and  placed  me  on  board  a  sloop  bound  up  the  North 
River,  and  gave  me  a  letter  to  a  brother,  at  White  Hall. 

Ber.  And  your  owner,  —  did  he  pursue  you  ? 

Cam.  Not  then  ;  but  he  came  shortly  after  to  New  York. 

Ber.  And  you  reached  White  Hall  ? 

Cam.  There  I  heard  bad  news.  Captain  Damon’s  brother  had 
removed  into  the  country.  I  set  out,  travelling  on  foot,  to  find  him. 
I  had  been  frustrated,  terrified,  wearied,  and  famished,  when  good 
Mr.  Jackwood  befriended  me  — 

Enter  Matilda,  d.  2  e.  l. 

Matilda.  There  is  somebody  coming  to  the  house  ! 

Ber.  Who  can  it  be  ?  Run  and  see,  Matilda. 

{Exit  Matilda,*  ix  2  *. 

Cam.  0,  Bertha  !  I  fear  — 

Ber.  Be  quiet !  I  will  listen  ! 

Robert.  {Without.)  I  must  see  her  !  Give  way  1 

Ber.  It  is  Robert  ! 

Cam.  (r.)  Conceal  me  !  Save  me  ! 

Enter  Matilda,  d.  2  e  l. 

Matilda  I  could  n’t  help  it  -he  would  come  in  ! 


DCENE  VI.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOO© 


@1 


Ber.  You  are  discovered  ! 

Enter  Robert,  d.  2  e.  l. 

Robert.  I  am  come  to  save  you  !  ( Crosses  to  c.) 

Cum.  Then  I  am  lost,  indeed  ! 

Ber.  0,  Robert  Greenwich  ! 

Rob.  Lose  not  a  moment  or  a  word  !  I  thought  yc  a  dead  f  In 
that  thought  I  have  suffered  a  thousand  deaths  !  Dickson  is  on  your 
track  1  •  ' 

Ber  Why  do  you  doubt  ?  Surely,  he  is  your  friend  ! 

Cam.  If  I  have  an  enemy  in  the  wide  world,  it  is  he  1 

Ber.  How  ?  0,  no,  Camille  ! 

Cam.  I  told  you  of  Roberts,  the  treacherous  friend.  I  told  not  one 
half.  Roberts  and  Robert  Greenwich  are  the  same  ! 

Rob.  0,  Camille,  —  as  I  have  wronged  you,  all  I  live  for  now  is  to 
make  atonement ! 

Ber.  Tell  us,  how  has  she  been  discovered  ? 

Rob.  By  a  bribe  —  Dickson  fell  in  with  Crumlett  — 

Ber.  0,  Matilda  !  It  is  what  I  feared  ! 

Mat.  Enos  ! 

Ber.  Why  did  you  tell  — 

Mat.  I,  tell !  I  never  did  !  I  hope  to  die  !  I  never  lisped  it  to  a 
-soul ! 

Ber.  True,  Matilda  ?  Not  even  to  Enos  ? 

Mat.  He  promised  me  he  would  n’t  tell  ! 

Ber.  Matilda,  what  have  you  done  ? 

Rob.  Help,  Bertha  !  ( Takes  hold  of  Camille.)  I  have  a  swift 

Rorse  at  the  door  —  I  will  take  her  to  a  place  of  safety  —  Dickson  will 
soon  be  here  ! 

Cam.  Away  !  I  will  meet  my  fate  ! 

Ber.  No,  no,  Camille  !  He  is  sincere  —  he  will  save  you!  We 
cannot  hide  you  here  ! 

Rob.  A  moment’s  delay  will  ruin  all  !  For  heaven’s  sake  !  for 
your  own  sake  !  believe  me  !  trust  me  !  Hark  ! 

Ber.  (  Throwing  a  shawl  upon  her.)  0,  if  Mr.  Rukely  were  here  ! 
Go,  go,  Camille  ! 

Cam.  I  cannot !  ( Knocking ,  d.  l.) 

Rob.  It  is  they  !  Save  her!  This  way  !  (Knockir  g  continued.) 

Ber.  Matilda,  help  !  (Crash,  l.) 

Diokson,  Dole,  and  Men ,  burst  in  at  d.  l.,  as  Robert,  Behtha,  a'td 
Matilda,  hurry  Camille  out ,  d.  b. 

6 


82 


NEIGHBOR  JACKW  DOD. 


ACT 


ACT  Y. 

SCENE  I  — A  Room  in  Crumlett’s  House.  Enos,  c.,  scuntingi 
money  upon  the  lid  of  a  trunk. 

Enos  Twenty-five,  thirty,  thirty-five,  forty  —  Ha  !  What  ’a 
that  ?  Gracious  !  what  a  start  it  give  me  !  It ’s  nothin’  but  a  mouse 
in  the  wall. — Thirty-five,  forty,  forty-five,  fifty —  (Starts.)  I’m 
sure  I  heerd  a  laugh  !  Somebody  said,  Enos  Crurnlett !  Enos  Crum - 
lett !  jest  as  plain  !  Forty-five,  fifty,  fifty-five  — 

Enter  Dickson,  l. 

Dickson.  Crurnlett ! 

E  nos.  Murder  !  murder  !  murder  !  (Scrapes  up  the  gold.)  It’s 
you  !  I  thought — jingoes  !  I  never  was  so  scart !  Breakin’  in  on 
to  a  feller  that  kind  o’  way  !  What  do  ye  want  ? 

Dick.  I  want  to  pay  you  that  other  eighty  dollars. 

Enos.  You  han’t  ketched  her  ! 

Dick.  No  ;  but  we  ’re  goin’  to,  I  reck’n.  I ’ve  got  a  clue.  Bob 
Greenwich  has  been  pass’n’  bogus. 

Enos.  This  an’t  bogus,  is  it  ? 

Dick.  Never  you  fear  !  Do  you  know  a  log  hut  off  in  Colyer’s 
woods  ? 

Enos.  Wal  —  yes.  It ’s  a  tarnal  ways  off,  though  ! 

Dick.  Never  mind  that.  A  gang  of  counterfeiters  have  been  coinin’ 
bogus  in  that  hut,  and  it ’s  my  ’pinion  it ’s  there  Bob  Greenwich  has 
carried  that  gal.  Come,  Dole  is  wait’n’  ;  we  want  you  to  show  us 
the  way. 

Enos.  And  you  ’ll  give  me  the  eighty  dollars? 

Dick.  Money ’s  ready. 

Enos.  Wal,  I  swanny,  now,  it  ?s  kind  of  a  temptation  !  May  as 
well  go  in  for  a  hull  sheep  as  a  lamb.  You  ’re  sure  this  an’t  none  o’ 
that  bogus,  hey  ? 

Dick.  Come  along  !  (Exit,  l. ) 

Enos.  I  shall  be  feelin’  consarned  about  this  money,  now,all  the 
time  I ’m  gone.  I  —  I’m  most  afraid  to  leave  it.  I  wish  I ’d  hid  it 
under  the  floor. 

Dick,  (l.,  without.)  Hurra  ! 

Enos.  Wal  ;  I ’m  cornin’  !  Jerusha  mighty  !  I ’m  sure  I  shall  be 
robbed  !  What  a  plague  it  is  to  be  rich  !  — 

Dick.  (  Without.)  Crurnlett  ! 

Enos.  Wal  •  in  a  minute.  Jingoes  !  I  shall  haf  to  take  it  with  me  ! 
’T  an’t  safe  to  leave  it  in  thfe  trunk. 

Dick.  (Without.)  An’t  you  com ’n’ to-day  ? 

Enos.  Jerusha  mighty  !  What  if  he  only  wants  to  get  me  out  one 
side  to  rob  me,  arter  all  ?  I  ’ll  leave  it  in  the  trunk  !  No,  I  won’t  ! 
Plague  on  so  much  money  !  (Exit,  L.) 

SCENE  II.  —  The  Counterfeiters ’  Hut.  Door  r.  c.,  in  flat,  with  bar , 

practical.  Camille  asleep  within  a  recess,  l.  c.,  in  fat.  Robem 

Greenwich,  c.,  and  Mrs.  Sperkley,  r.,  discovered. 

Mrs.  Sperkley.  Why  did  you  bring  her  here  ?  My  husband  al» 
ways  said,  if  we  got  found  out,  it  would  be  through  ycru  1 


flCEKE  II.]  NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOU.  €3 

Robert.  Nobody  knows  of  this  place. 

Mrs.  S.  0  dear  !  What  will  ray  husband  say? 

Rob.  Hash!  She  is  waking!  Bring  a  glass  of  wine.  .Msa 
Sperkley  brings  bottle  and  glass  from  R.  2  e.) 

Camille.  0,  what  dream  is  this? 

Rob.  You  have  been  sleeping. 

Cam.  You  !  ( Springs  up.) 

Rob.  Why  do  you  dread  me  now  ?  Have  I  not  saved  you  ? 

Cam.  0,  I  am  weak  and  bewildered  !  Heaven  pity  me  ! 

Rob.  ( Takes  glass  f  rom  Mrs.  Sperkley.)  Drink  this. 

Qam.  No  ;  leave  me  ! 

Rob.  You  need  it  much. 

Cam.  Perhaps  ;  but  I  will  not  drink.  Go  ! 

Rob.  I  am  your  servant. 

Cam.  Then  obey  me  ! 

Rob.  I  obey.  (Hands  the  glass  to  Mrs.  Sperkley.)  Prevail  upon 
her  to  drink.  (  Walks  aside ,  r.)  She  is  in  my  power,  and  the 
devil  tempts  me  !  What  can  I  do  to  make  her  love  me  ?  0,  demon  ! 

demon  !  ( Smites  his  brow.) 

Mrs.  S.  Why,  ’tan’t  bad  ;  jest  taste  it  ! 

Cam.  I  have  heard  of  people  being  drugged  !  0,  you  are  a  woman  ! 
Be  my  friend  !  Do  not  let  me  take  any  hurtful  drink  !  —  promise 
that  ! 

Mrs.  S.  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ? 

Rob.  ( Thrusting  Mrs.  Sperkley  aside.)  Go  !  Leave  us  ! 

Cam.  0,  stay  ! 

Mrs.  S.  I  will  come  back  !  (Exit,  d.  f. ) 

Rob.  (Goes  to  the  door ,  bars  it,  and  returns.)  If  you  can  sleep, 
let  me  sit  here  and  watch. 

Cam.  Leave  me,  sir  ! 

Rob.  0,  why  are  you  so  beautiful  —  so  lovely? 

Cam.  Robert  Greenwich  !  will  you  go? 

Rob.  Camille,  Canada  must  be  reached.  We  will  go  together.  The 
service,  the  love,  the  life,  of  a  great  and  passionate  soul,  are  yours  — 

Cam.  Tempter,  begone  ! 

Rob.  Scorn  me,  if  you  will  ;  but  consider  your  danger  ! 

Cam.  My  danger  is  in  you  !  My  whole  nature,  my  life,  my  very 
being,  rises  up  against  you  ! 

Rob.  When  you  deprive  me  of  hope,  you  drive  me  to  despair.  I 
cannot  lose  you  !  0,  Camille  !  (Seizes  her.) 

Cam.  Touch  me  not  !  Serpent  !  Help  !  help  ! 

Mrs.  S.  (  Without,  d.  f.)  Greenwich  !  (Shakes  the  door.) 

Rob.  (  Unbars  the  door.)  What  do  you  want? 

Enter  Mrs.  Sierkley. 

Mrs.  S.  There  are  men  in  the  burh  ! 

Rob.  How  many?  (Looks  out.)  That  accursed  Dickson  ! 

Mrs.  S.  Shall  I  open  ?  (Knocks  at  d.  f.) 

Rob.  Away!  (Flings  her  off.)  They  have  tracked  us  !  Your  hunt¬ 
ers  are  here  !  Shall  I  save  you  ? 

Cam.  What  do  you  mean  ?  (Knocks  continued.) 

Rob.  You  have  distrusted,  scorned  me  !  I’m  not  the  fool  to  save 
you  for  such  pay.  — -  Choose  ! 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD 


L  JI  V 


a 

Cam .  How  choose  ? 

Rob.  Between  me  and  slavery  !  Between  me  and  a  dozen  brutal 
masters  ! 

Cam.  Come  a  thousand  evils  !  come  slavery  !  come  death  !  I  can 
die,  but  I  cannot  sin  !  ( Knocks ,  D.  F.) 

Rob.  In  this  house  is  a  place  of  concealment.  Once  there,  you  are 
safe.  Only  promise  me  your  love  ! 

Cam.  Save  me  for  justice,  for  mercy  —  I  will  thank  you  !  But.  if 
for  your  own  selfishness,  I  snail  scorn  you  the  more  !  (  Violent 

knocks,  d.  f.) 

Mrs.  S.  We  are  lost  !  0  dear  !  0  dear  ! 

Rob.  Is  this  your  answer  ? 

Cam.  It  is  my  answer  !  ( Sinks  down  in  the  recess.) 

Rob.  Your  fate  be  upon  your  own  head  !  ( Throws  open  the  door.) 
Dickson,  I  ’m  glad  to  see  you  ! 

Enter  Dickson,  Oliver  Dole,  Sheriff,  and  others,  d.  f. 

Dickson.  Greenwich,  I ’m  glad  to  see  you  !  Whar ’s  that  gal  ? 

Rob.  I  brought  her  here  to  keep  her  till  word  could  be  got  to  you. 
You  ’ll  thank  me  when  you  know  all. 

Dick,  (r.)  Thank  you,  with  a  vengeance  !  There’s  your  man. 
sheriff. 

Sheriff,  (c. )  Robert  Green wkh,  I  arrest  you  for  counterfeiting. 

Rob.  Ha  !  this  is  your  plan  !  ( Struggles ,  but  is  overcome,  and 

handcuffed.) 

Dick.  (Crosses  to  Camille.)  All  right !  Come,  my  chiok  ! 

Oliver  Dole.  No  violence  ! 

Dick.  I  reck’n  you  ’ll  go  along  ’thout  any  morefuvr.  Three ’s  been 
fool’n’  enough  for  one  while. 

(Camille  rises,  glances  wildly  around  her,  and  fell'  v.  a  swoon.) 

Rob.  Well,  gentlemen  ;  I  am  ready  ! 

Mrs.  S.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  us  ?  'J  Iff  I 

Sheriff.  Come  along,  and  you  ’ll  see. 

(. Exeunt  Sheriff,  Robert,  Mrs.  Sp'X Vfu  r,  an  1  others ,  d.  f.) 

Dick.  I ’ll  fetch  her  out  of  this!  I’ve  wl  rath  tricks ’fore  to¬ 
day  ! 

O.  D.  I’m  astonished  to  find  her  so  ♦'/.Mo 

Dick.  ( Roughly  puts  flask  to  Caw/e’p-  lips.)  Com’n’  to,  a  bit, 
be  ye?  That ’s  right  ;  it ’s  got  to  cm#’ a,  and  the  sooner  it ’s  over,  the 
quicker. 

O.  D.  Be  careful  with  her.  IJ '/  t  hard  business  enough,  make  the 
best  on ’t. 

Dick.  (Raising  her  up.)  G'.r.’t  ye  s’pose  I  know  what  's  for  my 
interest  ?  I  ’ll  handle  her  liV>  sa  egg.  Grab  holt,  here  ! 

O.  D.  Good  heavens  !  dvYt  drop  her  head  that  way  !  (Assists  to 
remove  her.) 

Dick.  Lord,  she  ’ll  livo  through  it  !  Seems  to  me  you  We  crowed 
mighty  chick’n-hearted,  era ca  these  cussed  doughfaces  set  up  such  a 
yell  against  us  !  Cuss  tci*  Yankee  farmers  ! 

(E  mint,  bearing  Camille,  p. 


SCENE  JIT  ] 


NEIGHBOR  JACK 'WOOD 


05 


SCENE  III.  — Near  Mr.  Jackwood’s  House.  Enter  Mr.  Jackwood 
and  Abimelech,  carrying  Mrs.  Rigglesty’s  trunk. 

Mr.  Jackwood.  Keep  up  your  eend,  Bim’lech  ! 

Abimeitd u,  It ’s  plaguy  heavy,  any  way  !  Wait,  and  le’  me  spit 
cn  my  hands  !  ( Lets  the  trunk  fall.) 

Mr.  I.  (r.  c.)  You  ’re  a  smart  boy  ! 

Abim.  (l.  c.)  Darn  her  ol’  trunk,  I  say  ! 

Grandmother  Rigglesty.  (  Without,  r.)  I  vum  !  you  ’ll  have  that 
trunk  broke  all  to  pieces  !  Sich  carelissness  ! 

Enter  Grandmother  Rigglesty,  dressed  for  a  journey,  and  carry¬ 
ing  bundles.  Enter  Mrs.  Jackwood,  with  bandbox ;  Phcebe,  with 

umbrella. 

I  an’t  no  more  fit  to  be  travellin’  ’n  I  be  to  fly  !  I ’m  afraid  I  shan’t 
be  able  to  git  olf  to-day,  arter  all  ! 

Phcebe.  (Runs,  with  alacrity,  to  help  her.)  0,  grandmother  ! 

G.  R.  You  ’re  mighty  willin’  to  help,  seein’  I  ’in  goin’  away  '  0 

dear  !  my  back  !  (Sits  down  on  the  trunk,  c.) 

Abim.  (l.)  Mate  her  go  !  I  would  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech  ! 

G.  R.  I ’m  nothin’  but  a  burden,  seems,  in  some  places  !  (Hand¬ 
kerchief.)  I  got  this  ’ere  Good  Samaritan  han’kerchief  to  make  a 
present  on ’t  to  one  o’  you  childern  ;  but  there  han’t  neither  on  ye 
desarved  it  ! 

Abim.  Heugh  !  that  ol’  rag  ! 

Mr.  J.  ’Sh,  Bim’lech!  —  All  ready,  gran’ mother.  Bim’lech  an* 
I  want  to  put  the  trunk  into  the  buggy. 

G.  R.  I  s’pose  you  ’re  in  a  hurry  to  git  red  of  me  !  Wal,  you 
won’t  be  troubled  with  me  agin,  very  soon,  I  can  tell  ye  that.  0  dear  ! 
my  back  ! 

Mr.  J.  Bim’lech!  none  o’  that!  (To  Abimelech,  who  dances , 
and  shakes  his  fist  behind  her  back.)  Come,  mother  ! 

G.  R.  Is  my  lunch’on  in  the  bag  ?  I  wish  there ’d  been  a  bit  o’ 
cold  ham  to  go  with  it.  Where ’s  my  umbrel  ? 

Ph.  Here ’t  is  ! 

G.  R.  Wal,  I ’m  glad  to  see  ye  willin’  to  wait  on  me,  fur  once,  if 
’ t  is  to  git  red  of  me  !  Tuck  my  shawl  round  my  neck,  Betsey.  0, 
ho,  hum  !  Gi’  me  your  arm,  Bim’lech  !  0,  that  crick  in  my  back  ! 

It ’s  killed  me  !  0  dear  !  (Sinks  back  upon  the  trunk.) 

Mr.  J  Once  more,  gran’ mother  !  Cheer  up  !  Here  we  are,  all 
right ! 

G.  R.  (Rises.)  0  dear  !  0  dear  ! 

Ph  Good-by,  gran’mother  ! 

G.  R.  That  means  good  reddance,  I  s’pose  !  Th’  han’t  none  of  ye 
kissed  me. 

Mrs.  Jackwood.  (  Kissing  her.)  Good-by,  mother  ! 

G.  R.  Wal,  Phoebe,  (kissing  her)  I  hope  you’ll  be  a  better  gal 
When  I  come  agin. 

Abim.  I ’m  glad  I  an’t  no  taller  ! 

G.  R.  Come,  sonny  ;  ye  han’t  ben  a  bit  good  boy  since  I  ben 
hei’e  ;  but  I  ’ll  lass  ye. 

6* 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD 


[ACT  V 


C6 

Abim.  Can’t  reach  up  ! 

Mr.  J.  Come,  boy,  we  ’re  waitin’  !  Kiss  yer  gran’mother. 

Abim.  {Aside.)  I ’d  ruther  be  licked  ! 

Ph.  Come,  Bim  —  indulge  ! 

Abim.  I  shall  haf  to,  I  s’pose  !  {Makes  a  wry  face,  kisses  lur, 
and  afterwards  scours  his  lips  on  his  sleeve.)  Agh  ! 

G.  R.  There  1  ’t  an’t  hurt  ye  !  0  dear  1  Wal,  I  s’pose  I  must  go 

'Enter  Enos,  l.  u.  e.,  in  haste,  and  runs  against  her,  as  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood  and  Phcebe  are  helping  her  off. 

0  » 

Enos.  0  !  I  was  in  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

G.  R.  That  swindlin’  Crumlett ! 

{Exit,  l.  u.  e.,  with  Mrs.  J.  and  Phcebe.) 
Mr  J.  Ketch  holt  here,  Bim’lech  !  ( They  carry  off  trunk,  l. 

Ur  E.) 

Enos.  Heerd  the  news,  Neighbor  Jackwood,  ’bout  Charlotte 
Woods  ? 

Mr.  J.  Charlotte  ?  They  han’t  ketched  Charlotte  ! 

Enos.  Beats  all  what  mean  folks  there  is  in  the  world  —  don’t  it, 
now  ?  Who  do  ye  s’pose  went  and  told  she  was  in  Colyer’s  log  hut  ? 
Mr.  J.  Have  they  found  her  ? 

Eiios.  Yes  —  Bob  Greenwich,  too  !  He ’s  up  for  counterfeitin’. 
Mr.  J.  Charlotte  !  Where  is  she? 

Enos.  Wal,  they  ’re  takin’  her  ’fore  ’Squire  Greenwich  —  he ’s  the 
Commissioner,  ye  know  !  Say,  haf  to  buy  her  up,  won’t  we,  some  of 
us?  Of  course  we  can’t  think  o’  leltin’  her  be  carried  back. 

Mr.  J.  Back  to  slavery!  Our  Charlotte!  I ’das  soon  think  o* 
lettin’  my  own  darter  go  !  Bring  my  musket,  Bim’lech  !  Enos,  if 
you  're  a  man  — you  shall  take  the  axe  ! 

Abim.  Here ’s  the  ol’  musket  ! 

Mr.  J.  Give  it  here  !  Bring  the  powder  and  balls  !  Hurra  for 
old  Vermont  ! 

Abim.  I  ’ll  take  the  pitch-fork  !  Hurra  for  old  Vermont  ! 

{Exeunt  Mr.  J.  and  Abimelech,  l.  1  e.) 
Enos.  Wal  !  chance  for  a  spec’lation  !  Hurra  for  old  Vermont  ! 

{Exit,  l.  1  E.) 


SCENE  IV.  —  The  Jail.  Robert  discovered  in  a  cell,  behind  a 

grated  door,  r.  C.  in  flat,  h:s  face  covered  with  his  hands.  Enter ,  in 

the  large  hall,  the  Sheriff,  followed  by  Mr.  Greenwich,  l. 

Sheriff.  This  way,  ’Squire  Greenwich. 

Mr.  Greenwich.  That  the  name  of  Greenwich  should  come  to  this  ! 

Sheriff.  {Approaches  Robert’s  cell.)  Mr.  Greenwich  !  {To  Rob¬ 
ert.  )  He  does  not  hear  me. 

Mr.  G.  Leave  us,  sir.  (Sheriff  retires.)  0  !.  what  do  I  behold  1 
Son  Robert !  son  Robert  ! 

Robert.  {Starts  up,  and  springs  fiercely  against  the  bars.)  Ha  ! 
you  have  come  ! 

Mr.  G.  {In  alarm.)  Son  Robert  !  son  Robert  !  What  is  the  mean 
tng  of  this  ? 


SCENE  IV.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


67 


Rob  It  means  death  ! 

Mr.  G .  Merciful  heaven  !  Son  Robert,  you  ai  i  msane  ! 

Rob.  Does  it  seem  so  strange  to  find  me  here? 

Mr.  G.  Assuredly,  you  are  not  guilty  of  this  charge  ! 

Rob.  I  am  guilty  of  all  !  And  I  might  have  been  guilty  of  mors, 
could  this  hand  have  reached  you  !  ( Shakes  his  clenched  hand  through 
bars.) 

Mr.  G.  What  !  you  would  not  have  raised  that  hand  against  the 
paternal  head  ! 

Rob.  My  life  is  blasted  !  my  career  ends  here  !  and  I  have  you  to 
thank  !  Do  you  understand  ?  —  You  ! 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert,  I  do  not  understand  !  I  am  overwhelmed  ! 

Rob.  Old  man,  hear  me  !  It  is  for  the  last  time,  so  heed  m§  1 
Since  the  earliest  years  I  can  remember,  I  have  had  a  burning  hatred 
in  my  heart  for  you  ! 

Mr.  G.  Beware,  son  Robert  !  Remember  whom  you  address  ! 
Respect  the  paternal  head  ! 

Rob.  Remember  !  Respect  !  —  I  cannot  recall  a  single  kind  or  lov¬ 
ing  word  that  ever  you  spoke  to  me  !  If  there  was  any  goodness  in  me, 
it  was  crushed  out  ;  while  every  evil  trait  I  inherited  from  you  was 
kept  alive  by  you  —  by  your  cruel  tyranny  !  Now  you  behold  me 
here  ! 

Mr.  G.  Truly,  truly,  son  Robert,  you  are  beside  yourself  !  Who 
reared  you  up  from  infancy  with  unswerving  care  ?  Who  kept  you  at 
the  Sabbath-school  and  at  church?  Who  gave  you  tasks  from  the 
Scriptur’s,  to  commit  to  memory  !  Who  taught  you  filial  reverence 
and  respect  for  gray  hairs?  0,  wretched  young  man  !  Where  are 
the  talents  intrusted  to  your  care  ? 

Rob.  The  talents  have  brought  me  here.  You  did  all  you  boast  of ; 
and  so  I  say  I  thank  you  ;  for  the  very  means  you  used  made  me  hate 
you  and  your  lessons.  I  loathed  the  church  and  the  Sabbath-school ; 
I  never  came  near  a  Bible  but  I  struck  or  kicked  it,  because  of  those 
hated  tasks  ! 

Mr.  G.  No  more  !  no  more  !  My  pride  was  in  you,  my  son,  0. 
my  son  ! 

Rob.  Ay,  groan,  old  man  ! 

Mr.  G.  Still  you  bear  the  respectable  name  of  Greenwich,  and  I 
can  yet  find  it  in  my  heart  to  render  you  service. 

Rob.  You  can  render  none.  I  will  accept  none. 

Mr.  G.  0,  Robert,  my  son  !  my  heart  is  cleft  in  twain  ! 

Rob.  My  vices  ripened  earlier  than  you  thought.  I  had  learned 
hypocrisy  in  so  perfect  a  family  school  that  I  was  able  to  blind  even 
you.  When  I  came  of  age,  I  went  South,  and  there,  in  the  hot-bed 
of  vice,  my  nature  flourished.  I  ended  by  running  away  with  a  slave- 
girl  —  this  same  Camille  who  is  to  be  brought  before  you  to-day. 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert  !  Son  Robert ! 

Rob.  All  summer  I  have  pursued  her.  As  you  refused  me  money, 
I  got  it  as  best  I  could.  I  joined  a  gang  of  counterfeiters  —  I  dis» 
tributed  plenty  of  their  coin.  I  carried  Camille  to  our  hut  —  but  you 
have  heard  the  rest.  I  have  s  aked  everything  —  I  have  lost  —  this  is 
the  end  ! 

Mr.  G.  Merciful  heaven  !  Son  .Robert  !  my  only  son  !  the  hop* 
tf  my  old  age  — 


68  NEIGHBOR  JACK. WOOD.  [ACT  V 

Rob.  Remember  what  I  have  said.  I  have  thrown  that  burden  off. 
Now  go  ! 

Mr.  G.  But,  my  son,  while  that  I  return  to  my  dishonored  and 
desolate  home,  let  me  carry  with  me  the  consolation  of  knowing  that 
you  are  contrite  and  repentant  — 

Rob.  Carry  with  you  my  hatred  and  my  curse  ! 

Mr.  G.  Son  Robert  !  Son  Robert !  — 

Enter  Sheriff,  l 

Sheriff".  You  are  sent  for,  ’Squire  Greenwich. 

Mr.  G.  Ha  !  Yes  ! 

Sheriff.  The  fugitive  girl  is  taken  to  the  court-room 

Mr.  G.  I  will  come.  Son  Robert,  one  word  to  cheer  your  broken¬ 
hearted  father  — 

Rob.  I  have  spoken  it !  ’T  is  the  last  yov  shall  ever  hear  from  my 
lips.  That  word  is  —  my  curse  !  ( Shakes  hit  hand  through  the  bars.) 

Mr.  G.  Alas  !  I  am  an  afflicted,  dishonored  old  man  !  That  the 
respectable  name  of  Greenwich  should  come  to  this  !  ( Exeunt ,  l.) 


SCENE  V.  —  A  Village  Street.  Enter  Enos  and  Matilda,  r 

Enos.  Don’t  I  tell  ye  I  can’t  stop  ?  I’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

Matilda.  Jest  a  minute,  Enos  ! 

Enos.  Don’t  bother  me,  I  say  ! 

Mat.  I  have  n’t  seen  you  since  Sunday. 

Enos.  Of  course  you  have  n’t  !  I ’ve  had  suthin’  else  to  do.  I ’m 
full  o’  business  !  Come,  don’t  bother  ;  I’m  in  a  stavin’  hurry  ! 

Mat.  You  ’re  going  to  the  court-house  !  They ’ve  got  Charlotte 
Woods  there  ;  they  ’re  going  to  carry  her  back. 

Enos.  No,  they  an’t  goin’  to  carry  her  back,  nuther  ! 

Mat.  You  had  to  go  and  tell ! 

Enos.  Don’t  you  s’pose  I  know  what  I ’m  about?  Don’t  be  a  fool, 
Tildy.  They ’d  a’  found  her,  any  way.  Now  we  ’re  goiu’  to  make  it 
all  right.  We  ’re  goin’  to  buy  her. 

Mat.  Who  is  ? 

Enos.  Me  and  Jackwood,  and  a  lot  of  us.  Do  you  s’pose  we  ’re 
goin’  to  have  her  carried  back?  Of  course  her  owner  wants  his  pay, 
and  it ’s  nat’ral. 

Mat.  You  ’ll  pay  out  your  money  for  Charlotte  Woods,  and  you 
wouldn’t  git  me  that  breast-pin  I  asked  you  for  —  it  only  cost  a 
shillin’  ! 

Enos.  Of  course  I  would  n’t  ! 

Mat.  An’t  we  engaged? 

Enos.  Wal,  —  but  I  an’t  sure  o’  havin’  ye,  arter  all,  and  I  an’t 
goin’  to  no  expense  on ’t,  till  I  be. 

Mat.  I  knew  you  wanted  to  break  off  !  ( Cries.) 

Enos.  Who  said  anything  about  breakin’  off?  Look  here,  Tildy  , 
ye  an’t  mad  ’cause  I  went  an’  told,  be  ye? 

Mat.  No  ;  though  I  don’t  see  what  ye  wanted  to,  for  *  And  now 
you  ’re  goin’  to  pay  out  money  for  her  ! 

Enos.  Jerusha  mighty,  Tildy  !  I  han’t  told  ye,  but  I  wilL  1 
shall  make  over  a  hunderd  dollars  by  the  operation  ! 


IL'ENE  YT.] 


NEIGHBOR  JACK  WOOD.  59 

Mat.  I  want  to  know  ! 

Enos.  I  ’ll  tell  ye,  some  time.  I  got  to  go  now,  or  I  shan’t  git  my 
money.  I’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  ! 

Mat .  And  you  don’t  want  to  break  off? 

Enos.  Why  should  I  want  to  break  off? 

Mat.  You  kept  away  from  me  so  ! 

Enos.  Wal,  —  of  course,  —  I  thought  you’d  make  a  ’tarnal  fuss, 
’cause  I  went  and  told.  Jingoes  !  Tildy  !  we’ll  be  married  next 
week,  if  ye  say  so. 

Mat.  0  !  will  we  ? 

Enos.  Only  let  me  go  now,  ye  know  !  I ’m  in  a  tearin’  hurry  ! 
There,  Tildy  !  good-by.  (Exit,  l.) 

Mat.  Enos!  Enos!  (Exit,  i..) 


SCENE  VI. —  The  Court-Room,  c.  doors  guarded.  Dickson  and 

Dole  discovered,  l.,  supporting  Camille.  A  Lawyer  at  table ,  r. 

c.,  behind.  Officers  and  Men.  Shouts  without. 

Dickson  How  do  ye  git  on,  my  gal?  Pooty  comPtable  ?  (Puts 
flask  to  her  lips.)  Suck  this  a  little  ;  it  ’ll  do  ye  good. 

Cam.  (Feebly  putting  the  flask  aside.)  0  ! 

Dick.  There,  I  like  that  better.  ’S  long ’s  they  can  make  that 
noise  there ’s  hopes  on  ’em.  There ’s  a  mighty  sight  o’  sham  ’bout 
these  yer  white  ones. 

Oliver  Dole.  There ’s  no  sham  here  ! 

Dick.  Wal,  sham  or  no  sham,  she ’s  got  to  go.  Git  her  safe  out  o’ 
the  reach  o’  these  cussed  abolish ’nists,  an’  I  ’ll  have  a  doctor  look  to 
her.  But  I  an’t  go’n’  to  run  no  risks.  An’t  there  suthin’  here  chokes 
her?  (Roughly  opens  Camille’s  throat.)  Git  her  up,  so ’s ’t  she  can 
suck  the  air  a  little  freer,  I  reck’n,  marshal. 

O.  D.  Be  careful  with  her,  —  be  careful  ! 

Dick.  Here,  one  o’  you  men  ;  grab  holt  here  ;  jest  keep  her  from 
pitcliin’  out  o’  the  chair.  Whar ’s  the  Commissioner?  We  can’t 
wait  all  day  !  Shoot  the  fust  man,  there  ! 

Enos.  (  Without,  c.  d.)  Le’  me  in  !  Here  !  don’t  ye  goto  p’intin’ 
yer  shootin’-irons  at  me  !  I ’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  !  (Enters,  c.  d. 'i 

Dick.  Let  that  man  pass.  V7  liar’s  yer  Commissioner,  I  say. 
(Paces  to  and  fro.)  Jest  like  yer  cussed  Yankees  ! 

Enos.  (Looking  at  Camille.)  I  swanny  !  that  ’ere ’s  too  bad, 
now  !  V7ho ’d  a’  thought  !  Look  here,  you  ! 

Dick.  (Furious.)  What  do  you  want? 

Enos.  You  don’t  happen  to  have  a  chaw  o’  tobacker  about  ye,  do 
f6?  (Shouts  without.) 

Dick.  Hear  them  abolish’n  cusses  yell ! 

O.  D.  (Aside.)  I ’m  sorry  I  meddled  with  this  business.  How  do 
/ ou  feel  now,  my  girl  ? 

Dick.  If  that  an’t  a  perty  marshal  !  It ’s  enough  to  make  a  man 
sick!  Here,  I ’ll  make  her  sit  up  !  (Shakes  Camille.)  None  o’ yer 
tricks,  my  chick  !  There  !  hold  her  so. 

Encs.  That  ’ere  is  too  bad  !  Say  !  she  ’ll  be  bought,  won’t  she? 

D.rk  WTho  d}  you  s’pose ’s  goin’  to  buy  her? 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWiOD. 


[ACT  > 


:6 

Enos.  Wal,  you  said  her  owner  was  in  New  Y  prk. 

Dick.  What ’s  that  to  do  with  buyin’  her? 

Enos.  Why,  there ’s  me  an’  Jaclcwood,  an’  the" rest. 

Dick.  What  ’ll  you  give,  for  one? 

Enos.  Do’no’  —  that ’s  accordin’ — I  would  n’t  mind  sayiu’ a  dol* 
lar,  —  dollar  ’n  a  quarter  — 

Dick.  You  ’re  a  fool  !  She ’s  got  to  go  back,  just  for  the  fun  o; 
the  thing. 

E  nos.  Jerusha  mighty  !  I  never  thought  o’  that.  Guess  I  better 
get  out  on’t.  —  See  here  !  I’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  — 

( Shouts  without.) 

Dick.  Hear  ’em  yell  !  —  Whar  ’s  that  Commissioner  ? 

Enter  Squire  Greenwich,  c.  d. 

Here  he  comes,  at  last !  Now  le’s  hurry  up  ! 

Enos.  (r.  c. )  If  you  happen  to  have  that  eighty  dollars  about  ye 
—  I’m  in  a  good  deal  of  a  hurry  — 

Dick.  You  ’re  a  fool ! 

Enos.  There ’s  twice  he ’s  called  me  a  fool  !  What  ’u’d  Tildy  say? 

( Shouts  without,  confusion  within.) 
.Mr.  Greenwich.  Order  in  the  court  !  {Daps  on  his  desk.)  Mar¬ 
shal  Dole  ! 

O.  D.  Here  ! 

Mr.  G.  You  have  procured  the  person  named  in  your  warrant? 

Q.  D.  She  is  here,  your  honor. 

Mr.  G.  Bring  forward  the  girl  Camille. 

Enos.  (To  Dickson.)  If  it’s  just  as  convenient  to  pay  me  qow,  ye 
know  —  I’m  in  a  desprit  hurry  — 

Lawyer.  Here  are  the  papers,  your  honor.  The  girl’s  identity 
will  be  sworn  to  by  these  men. 

(Mr.  Greenwich  takes  the  papers  in  an  agitated  manner,  and 
writes.) 

O.  D.  Be  on  hand,  gentlemen.  As  soon  as  the  word  is  given,  have 
your  pistols  ready.  ( Shouts  without ;  tumult  at  the  door.) 

Mr.  G.  Take  the  girl. 

Dick.  Shoot  down  the  fust  man  ! 

Enter  Hector,  c.  d.,  with  fury  in  his  looks ,  and  tears  his  way 

through  the  guard. 

Camille.  ( Starts  forward,  with  a  wild  scream,  flinging  out  her 
arms  towards  him.)  Hector  ! 

Hector.  She  is  mine  !  ( Seizes  Camille  as  she  is  falling,  flings 

Dole  aside,  knocks  Dickson  down,  and  bears  her  to  the  front  of  the 
stage,  l.  ;  holds  her  upon  his  bosom  with  his  left  arm,  and  throws  up 
his  right  with  a  gesture  of  triumph  and  defiance.)  Mine  ! 

Enter,  c.  ix,  Mr.  Jackwood  with  musket,  xIbimelech  with  pitchforks 
neighbors  with  hoes,  forks,  fyc. ;  after  whom  Mrs.  Jackwood, 
Phcebe,  Matilda,  Mrs.  Kigglesty,  a?id  others. 

Dick,  (r.,  scrambling  to  his  feet.)  Marshal  !  what  are  ye  about  i 
She  is  mine,  by  the  laws  of  the  country  ! 

Hec.  ( Throws  him  aside.)  She  is  mine,  by  the  one  Eternal  law 


* 


'  SCENE  VI  J 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


71 


O.  D.  Advance  ! 

{As  Dickson,  Dole,  and  posse,  rush  upon  Hector,  Jackwood  md 
the  farmers,  with  their  weapons  raised,  rush  before  them.) 

Mr.  Jackwood.  (c.)  Stop  that  ! 

Hoc.  (l.)  There  is  no  power  to  take  from  me  my  own  ! 

Dick.  {Brandishing  his  pistol.)  I  call  on  the  marshal  to  do  his 
duty  ! 

Hec.  I  call  upon  all  to  do  the  duty  of  men  !  Dogs  !  bloodhounds  ! 
You  mocker  of  justice,  in  the.  form  of  a  judge  !  hear  me  !  (Mr.  Green¬ 
wich  rises  up  and  bends  forward,  agitated.  All  eyes  are  bent  upon 
Hector.)  Under  an  inhuman  law,  you  have  hunted  down  a  human 
soul  !  It  is  recorded  !  {Points  upward.)  As  ye  have  done  it  unto 
one  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Him  ! 

Mr.  G.  You  are  resisting  the  execution  of  the  law. 

Hec.  {Takes  a  paper  from  his  bosom,  and  extends  it  to  Dole.) 
Give  that  to  your  master  !  0,  Camille  ’  when  we  parted,  I  was 

stunned,  insane  !  But  love  restored  my  reason.  I  hurried  to  New 
York  ;  I  confronted  the  man  who  called  himself  your  owner  1 

Mr.  G.  {Raps  on  his  desk.)  This  paper  stops  all  proceedings. 
The  girl  is  free  ! 

Cam.  0,  Hector  !  {Embraces  him,  sobbing  convulsively.) 

All.  She  is  free  !  free  ! 

Enos.  ( To  Matilda.)  Did  n’t  I  tell  ye?  Of  course  she ’d  be  free  ! 
(  To  Dickson.  )  See  here  !  Guess  I  ’ll  take  that  eighty  dollars  —  I’m 
in  suthin’  of  a  hurry. 

Dick.  Fool !  —  You  ’re  a  pack  of  cussed  fools  ! 

Enter  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rukely,  r.  Mr.  Greenwich  advances  c. 

Mr.  Rukely.  ’Squire  Greenwich,  your  son  has  committed  suicide  ! 

Mr.  G.  My  son  !  Robert  ! 

Mr.  R.  I  was  in  the  jail,  attending  to  my  official  duties  ;  I  heard 
the  report  of  a  pistol.  I  hastened  to  his  cell  —  he  had  shot  himself  ! 

Air.  G.  My  son  !  my  son  !  my  son  !  {Exit,  R.) 

Mr.  J.  Poor  old  man  !  poor  old  man  ! 

O.  D.  Nothing  remains  for  me,  but  to  dismiss  my  deputies. 

Mr.  J  And  I  should  think,  Oliver  Dole,  you  would  be  glad  to 
wash  your  hands  of  this  business.  As  for  you,  Mr.  Dickson,  go  home 
and  tell  your  folks  what  ye  think  of  old  Vermont,  and  our  New  Eng¬ 
land  manners  and  customs.  Then,  if  ye  want  my  farm,  that  you  was 
goin’  to  have  so  f’erce,  you  ’re  welcome  to  come  and  git  it  !  Our 
people  believe  in  law  and  order  ;  but,  le’  me  tell  ye,  show  yer  face  here 
agin,  and  you  ’ll  find  a  wus  night’s  lodgin’  than  the  top  of  a  hay¬ 
stack  ! 

Enos.  See  here  —  about  that  eighty  dollars,  if  ye  an’t  in  too  much 
ef  a  hurry  — 

Dick.  Cuss  these  Yankee  farmers  ! 

Abimelech.  Ride  him  on  a  rail  ! 

{Exeunt  Dole,  Dickson,  fyc.,  c.  d.,  Abimelech  flourishing  hispiti 
fork  in  their  rear.) 

Enos.  (  To  Matilda.)  He  called  me  a  fool  ! 

Matilda.  Make  him  prove  it  ! 

Enos.  Wai,  I  could  do  it ! 

Jfr.  J.  Hector  Dunbury,  you  ’re  a  noble  fellow  ! 


72 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOB, 


ACT  V, 


Hec.  0,  Mr.  Jack  wood  ! 

Mr.  J.  You  ’ve  freed  our  Charlotte,  accordin’  to  law  ;  and  that’s 
the  way  always  to  do  a  good  thing,  when  ye  can.  And  how  is  our 
Charlotte  gittin’  along  ? 

Hec.  For  her  sake,  for  rny  sake,  for  humanity’s  sake,  I  thank  you, 
Neighbor  Jack  wood  !  We  shall  never  forget  wh#  was  neighbor  unto 
her  who  fell  among  thieves  ! 

Mr.  J.  This  puts  life  into  ye,  don’t  it? 

Cam.  You  may  well  say  life !  To  be  a  thing,  a  chattel,  a  slave  — 
then  to  feel  for  the  first  time  that  I  can  call  myself  a  woman,  and  in 
juch  an  hour  to  find  — 

Mr.  J.  A  father  !  ( Gives  her  his  hand.) 

Phoebe.  And  a  sister  ! 

Abim.  And  a  brother  —  don’t  forget  me  ! 

Hec.  And  a  husband,  Camille  ! 

Cam.  O,  this  is  the  beginning  of  life  ! 

Grandmother  Rigglesty.  And  a  gran’mother  !  You  know  I  was 
allers  your  best  friend  ! 

Enos.  We  ’re  kind  o’  left  out,  Tildy.  Guess  we  may  as  well  be 
goin’  ! 

Mr.  J.  As  for  you,  Enos  Crumlett  — 

Enos.  0  !  did  you  speak  ? 

Mr.  J.  You  han’t  played  the  manliest  part  ever  was,  in  this  busi¬ 
ness — 

Enos.  0  !  I  —  ye  see  —  I ’m  in  suthin’  of  a  hurry  — 

Mr.  J.  But  you ’ve  been  of  sarvice  ;  pitchin’  that  scoundrel  put  o* 
the  winder  was  the  best  thing  you  ever  did  in  your  life.  So  you  shall 
Stay,  and  help  us  give  three  rousin’  cheers  for  Freedom  — 

Hec.  And  for  Freedom’s  true  champion  —  Neighbor  Jackwood  ! 

All  Hurra  !  hurra  !  hurra  ! 


SITUATIONS 


P5 

& 


■PROSCENIUM 


A  most  effective  Proscenium  can  be  formed  by 
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Puffed  satin  paper,  elze  20  inches  by  30  inches*, 
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Imitation  Gold  Bordering,  per  sheet,  25c. 
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french’s  (late  lacy’s)  descriptive  list. 


_ _ _ _ . — These  comprise  three  sheets  of  paper  each,  and  can  be 

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Price,  $1.00,  complete. 


1 This  is  also  made  with  two  sheets  of  paper. 
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I 


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lids,  Spirit  Gum,  Indian  Ink,  Burnt  Umber,  Camei  Hair  Brushes,  Hares*  Foot, 
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NEW  PEAYS 


: 


Bitter  Reckoning 
Eileen  Oge 
Bathing ' 

An  Old  Score 
My  ister  from  India 
Mao  ia  Martin 
Ah  ong  tlie  Iielios 
Nabob  for  an  Hour 
An  Old  Man 
Tillage  Nightingale 
Our  Nelly 
Partners  for  Life 
Chopstick  and  Spikins 
Chiselling 

Birds  in  their  Little  Nests 
Pretty  Predicament 
Seven  Sins 
Insured  at  Lloyd’s 
Hand  and  Glove 
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Jessamy’s  Courtship 
False  Alarm  • 

U p  in  the  World 
Parted 

One,in  Hand,  &c. 

Little  Sunshine 
Who'll  Lend  me  a  Wife 
Extremes  Meet 
Golden  Plough 
Sweethearts 
Velvet  and  Rags 
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Love’s  Alarm 
An  Appeal  to  Eeelin 
Tale  of  a  Comet 
Under  False  Colors 
Heroes 
Philanthropy 
Little  Vixens 
Telephone 
Too  Late  to  Save 
Just  My  Luck 
Grateful, Father 
Happy  Medium 
Sole  Survivor 
Neck  or  Nothing 


;  Poppleton’s  Predicaments 


i  Auld  Acquaintance 
i  Vweds 


White  Pilgrim 
j  Dentist’s  Clerk 
'  Lancers 
i  Lucille 

!  Randall’s  Thumb 
Wicked  World 
Two  Orphans 
’Twixt  Axe  and  Crown 
Wonderful  Woman 
Curious  Case 
Forty  Winks 
Lady  Clancarty 
Never  Too  Late  to  Mend 
Lily  of  France 
Led  Astray,  25  cts. 

Henry  V. ,  new  version 
Unequal  Match 
May,  or  Dolly’s  Delusion 
As  Like  as  Two  Peas  i 
Court  Cards 
Happy  Land 
Allatoona 
Enoch  Arden 
Weak  Woman 
How  She  LoveS'Him 
Our  Society 
Mother-in-Law 
■Snowed  In 
Terrible  Tinker 
My  Uncle’s  Will 
Our  Friends 
Queen  of  Hearts 
Lady  of  Lyons  Married 
and  Settled 
Bitter  Cold 
1’eacock’s  Holiday 
Daisy  Farm 
Wrinkles 
Lancashire  Lass 
On  an  Island 
Q.  E.  D. 

Withered  Leaves 
Ruth’s  Romance 


Old  Sailor 
Pampered  Menials 
Noblesse  Oblige 
Lad  from  the  Country 
Not  False  but  Fickle 
Infatuation 
i  Davenport  Bros.  &  Go. 
Freezing  a  M other-i u-Lai 
i  That  Dreadful  Doctor 
;  Plot  for  Plot 
:  Our  Relatives 
.Engaged 
My  Awful  Bad 
On  Bait 
j  Tom  Cobb 
I  Bow  Bells 
|  Married  for  Money 
F  .mnibone’s  Fix 
•  l  atter  versus  Clatter 
|  For  her  Child’s  Sake 
i  Married  in  Haste 
Our  Boys 
Which 

My  Father’s  Will 
Daniel  Rochafc 
Caste 
School 
Home  • 

David  Garrick 
Ours 

Social  Glass 
Daniel  Druce 
Pinafore 
Old  Soldier 
My  Daughter’s  Debut. 
Word  of  Honor 
Sold  Again 
Guy  Fawkes 
Little  Madcap 
Handsome  Jack 
Scarlet  Dick 
Wedding  March 
My  Wife’s  Father’s  Sisto 
His  Novice 
Much  too  Clever 
Hamlet  Improved 


ARTICLES,  NEEDED  BY  AMAfSUBS, 


Surii  as  at] eaux  Lights.  M aomesium  Tableaux  Lifriits-  Prepared.  Bai 
bucb  as  Paints,  Ijigntning  for  Private  Tneatricals. 


Guide  to  Selecting  Plays,  Hints  on  Costume,  Scenery  to  fit  any  Stage. 


Jar  ley’s  Wax  Works,  Ethiopian  1  ’ays.  Charades,  Amateur’s  Guide,  Guide  tc 

tne  Stage. 


li^-ZE  SAr  C A-TiLLOG-TJE  SENT  PHEI 


PROM 

The  Dramatic  Publishing  Company, 
Chicago. 

120  page  catalogue  sent  free  on  application , 


■£...* . rt; 

Hfgp 


! 

MHHHBnD 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLIN0I9-URBANA 


2  045788699 


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